England's Christmas Carol
by flying-chipmunk
Summary: When England starts to be a bit of a Scrooge himself - and on Christmas Eve no less - some familiar faces from his past reappear to teach him a lesson. But as he's taken on a journey by the Christmas spirits, can he realize that his own past, present, and future aren't as perfect as he'd like to think?
1. Chapter 1 - Do You Hear What I Hear?

Chapter 1 - Do You Hear What I Hear?

Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia nor A Christmas Carol. Or anything else exciting for that matter.

* * *

_"Uncle!" pleaded the nephew._

_"Nephew!" returned the uncle sternly, "keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine."_

_"Keep it!" repeated Scrooge's nephew. "But you don't keep it."_

_"Let me leave it alone, then," said Scrooge. "Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!"_

_- A Christmas Carol_

*ヘタ リア*

England opened the door to his hotel room and took off his coat, draping it over a chair near the doorway. He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm up a bit. It was cold outside, and the walk to his room from the lobby hadn't been enough to shake it.  
As he did so, a blinking light on the side table next to said chair caught his eyes. Curious, he pressed the flashing button on the base of the phone

"You have six new messages." A mechanical voice intoned, followed by a rather obnoxious "BEEP!"

England sighed heavily. Six messages? On a hotel phone? Three guesses what they were all about - and the first two didn't bloody count. He shut the door as the first started to play.

"Hey, dude, it's me Ameri-"

"-ahem... public phone..."

"-Alfred! And er...Matt's here too! We were just checking in to make sure you know about the Christmas Eve party tonight. It's gonna be totally awesome and since we know you're in town and all, you better come! Later, dude!"

"BEEP!"

"Hey, I know just called like an hour ago, but in case you didn't check your messages... Christmas party! You better not have forgotten, but I know that's not likely since we're all spending Christmas in the totally awesome city of New York. Best place for it! Best place for pretty much everything actually, but you know... Remember: Christmas Eve party. Conference room. 6:00. See ya there!"

England glanced at the clock 6:12. What a shame. He was late already. That should be enough to inform America of his intentions. Should, of course, being the key phrase there. One of the more mature nations would probably have to figure it out first.

"BEEP!"

"Hey, Iggy, dude, it's getting kinda late and we all totally don't want you to miss this! It's not every year all of us are in the same place around Christmas, so you better not be the only one who doesn't make it. There's kinda a lot of food and - OH MY GOSH ITALY, WHAT IS THAT!?

"Panettone!"

"It looks freakin' delicious! Can you...? ...oops. Sorry, I forgot the message was still running. Um... wish Iggy a Merry Christmas, dude!"

"~Ve! Buon Natale!"

"BEEP!"

England sank into the armchair next to the phone. What was he supposed to do? Calling America would probably result in someone's feelings being hurt. Not exactly ideal on Christmas.

"Hey, Iggster... um... yeah. I guess you'll probably hear the other messages, but in case something went wrong... have you forgotten about the Christmas party? And... um... are you coming? I'll try your cell..."

"BEEP!"

England glanced at his cellphone, lying abandoned on a nearby table. He had turned it off after his ex-colony's 12th text. That was around 5:00. He didn't even want to know how many messages there were on it now.

"Hey, um, is this on? Okay, good. Alfred's kinda busy right now, dealing with Tino's reindeer - don't ask - but he asked me to check in with you. Oh, um, it's Matthew, by the way. So, we think your cell must be off or something, because you haven't, um, seen our messages or anything. Are you okay? Anyway... call us, eh?"

"BEEP!"

England felt mildly worse ignoring Canada's message, but he still couldn't bring himself to actually call and explain to everyone else that they annoyed him so much that you couldn't pay him enough to show up to the party. Was there even a good way to do that? Silence still seemed like a better policy.

"Alright, what is this?! There is literally no way you could have missed every single one of our messages. Or texts. And I swear, I'm not misusing 'literally' this time. Literally. Well... unless you're dead. In that case I'm really sorry. Because being dead on Christmas would suck. But guess what - I know you're not dead! So... dude. WHAT IS GOING ON?! You better explain yourself. It's Christmas Eve! I know you're here in New York! You were even at the meeting yesterday! Why aren't you at the conference room?"

"BEEP!"

Sinking still deeper into his chair, England put a hand up to his forehead and shook his head. He knew this was going to happen! He knew it! And for some time, too. He'd known it as soon as he checked the world conference schedule and saw that the nations' next meeting was scheduled for December 23. And in New York City, no less. A wiser nation might have realized other countries had plans for Christmas, traditions and the like, and might like to spend some time alone - but not America. No, of course the younger nation had decided it was the perfect opportunity to hold a massive Christmas Eve party. The conference yesterday had been bothersome enough. Why couldn't everyone just leave him in peace?

His thoughts were interrupted as his phone rang yet again and the answering machine crackled to life.

"Okay, what the heck is going on?! I-"

As America's voice flooded the room again, England finally snapped. So much for silence - at the rate this was going, he was going to spend the evening annoyed by his former colony and the other nations even if he _didn't_ go to the christmas party. He angrily picked up the phone, pressed the green talk button and shouted into the receiver.

"What is wrong with you, you bloody imbecile?!"

"England! You're there! Fantastic!" America's voice grew fainter for a second, "He picked up guys!"

England heard a faint "Finally...", "Really?", and "Aha!" in the background. It appeared the other nations had been waiting as well.

Lovely.

"So England, you're a little late, but you're totally still coming, right? Are you okay? Dude, did you get sick on Christmas Eve? That sucks! I can -"

"-I'm not sick, idiot! Now if you'll just let me explain."

"If you're not sick, why aren't you here? You're missing the party. Hey, Canada, come on, tell England he's totally missing the party."

The elder nation snapped. "I am NOT missing the bloody party!"

"Well you're not here..."

England could just picture the look of confusion on America's face.

"No, you don't understand, git. I am not missing anything, as I never intended to participate."

"Huh?"

"I shall use small words to get through your thick skull... I. AM. NOT. COMING. Got it?!"

"Why not?"

"Because I have better things to do with my time than wasting my Christmas Eve with idiotic former colonies who don't even celebrate it correctly!"

England took a deep breath. Hm. That was... more than a tad blunter than he'd wanted, but in his defense, in was nearly impossible for anyone rationally-minded to engage in a decent-length conversation with America and not have_ some_ lapse in sanity.

"What's wrong with they way I celebrate Christmas?" America' said indignantly. Again, England could just picture his face.

"What isn't? Now, if you'll excuse me, I would like to go about observing my Christmas the way I planned. Tea, perhaps a good book, and quiet - alone. As is I've had to put some of my own traditions aside - have your people never heard of a pantomime, for God's sake? Or at least Christmas crackers..."

"Crackers...? What do crackers have to do with - never mind. Um... Merry Christmas to you too England. I... uh... hope you have a good time. And..."

"And what?"

"Er... I'm assuming that you... uh...tomorrow... you won't be, uh... gah, never mind."

"Are you quite finished?"

"Yeah. Um... bye. Again, Merry Christmas."

"It's Happy Christmas, you git."

"Uh...Right. Sorry."

There was a click, leaving England in an awkward silence.

"Well, I suppose that could've gone worse," England said to himself, ignoring the little part of his brain that whispered "It could have gone a lot better, too."

"Anyway, now that all that's over..." England trailed off, looking about the room for the book he had been trying to read earlier, before deciding to go out and get dinner. And conveniently avoid the telephone for a bit.

Aha! There it was, on the side table by the armchair. _Next to the phone..._ He thought, before he pushing it out of his mind rather quickly.

Guiltily, actually, though he wouldn't admit that.

He picked up the weathered-looking novel and ran his finger along the side, feeling the indents of the gold patterns on the faded, reddish-orange cover. A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens. He smiled to himself. Not many people possessed one of the original 1843 copies, but he was pretty sure there was only one who remembered stepping into a London bookstore to buy it one snowy afternoon. And enjoying it immensely. How many times had he read it that year? At least once on Christmas Eve alone...

A very different evening, he thought to himself, trying to remember the world conference that had preceded _those_ memories. It was earlier that year, that was for sure; he vaguely remembered something about Natal and... Gambia? And his older brother had been having some trouble with the church - not that he'd really cared, to be honest. Oh, and America blathering on about Westward Expansion. He'd been telling anyone who would listen (which was a much smaller number of nations then, the boy wasn't even a hundred years old - ha!) about the Oregon Territory. Or something like that - he'd been too busy being the British Empire, and not listening.

_Blast! Can't I even reminisce without being annoyed by that brat?!_

…

_Okay, maybe it wasn't so different, even in the 19th century_.

Attempting to shake thoughts of everything bothering him from his mind, England cracked open the book gently, smiling at the comforting, musty smell from it's pages. In times of turmoil... alright, "annoyance" was more fitting here than actual "turmoil", he'd admit that... In times of _serious_ annoyance, he found familiarity to be rather comforting. And the book was nothing if not familiar. Soon enough, he was immersed in the story, and his mind was not full of his real life troubles with the other nations, but of the well-accustomed fictional struggles of Ebenezer Scrooge, Tiny Tim, and the rest of the Cratchits.

Of course, he never would have predicted how familiar he'd become with them before the end of the night.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I honestly think that England would be one of those people who has traditions like reading the _same exact book_ every year (for hundreds of years, no less... xD). A British book, of course.

I know this chapter's a little short, but I liked it better as a stand-alone chapter and not part of the second one, so it'll just serve as exposition.  
I was inspired by the fact the Dickens modeled his novel after real Christmas carols, calling the chapters staves, and that sort of thing. So along with putting quotes from the book in (Huzzah for free domain novels!), I've decided all my chapter titles will be real carols - and I'll put the lyrics that inspired me in the author's notes. (Just a warning though, you might not recognize them - I'm not typically choosing from the first verse!) Here's this chapter's:

_"Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy:_  
_'Do you hear what I hear?_  
_Ringing through the sky shepherd boy?_  
_Do you hear what I hear?_  
_A song, a song_  
_High above the tree_  
_With a voice as big as the sea_  
_With a voice as big as the sea'"_

Ooh... look at me getting all symbolic. Song? Carol? A Christmas Carol?  
…don't shoot me, please. xD  
Anyway, reviews would be very much appreciated, since this is my first fic. I'd love to know what you think of it. I hope to have the next chapter up really soon. Thanks everybody!


	2. Chapter 2 - The Midnight Clear

Chapter 2 - It Came Upon the Midnight Clear

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Hey everybody! I was so excited by the initial response to the story that I edited this chapter really quickly so I could give you some more. And get to the interesting part. =D  
Thanks to everybody for taking an interest. And a BIG thank-you to silverheartlugia2000 for reviewing!

Now onto the story...

* * *

_"You will be haunted," resumed the Ghost, "by Three Spirits."_

_Scrooge's countenance fell almost as low as the Ghost's had done._

_"Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob?" he demanded, in a faltering voice._

_"It is."_

_"I - I think I'd rather not," said Scrooge._

_- A Christmas Carol_

*ヘタリア*

Despite being caught up in his reading, England found himself beginning to nod off. He blinked a few times, but the general feeling of sleepiness remained.

_Hm, perhaps it's time to make some tea_, he thought, setting his book aside and pulling himself out of his chair. He shuffled over to the kitchen area of the hotel room, noting that he'd already removed some teabags from his suitcase. Sure, there was some provided in the basket next to the coffee-maker, but he always made sure to bring his own when traveling internationally - one could never trust anyone else to have proper tea. (And ever since 1773, he'd been _particularly_ distrustful of America's - ahem - _behavior_ towards the beverage. Okay, perhaps "paranoid" was a better word...)

A few minutes later, his tea ready, he removed the bag and gently blew on the surface, supporting the saucer with one hand and the cup with the other. He took a cautious sip, then started slightly.

"Gah! Too hot!"

From somewhere in the room, he'd could have sworn he heard laughter.

Cautiously setting down his cup, England peered into the darkness of the hotel room. He was not easily frightened, but no one liked the idea of an unwelcome intruder.

"Excuse me?"

There was more laughter, followed by an angry whispered _"Shhhh!"_ and a sigh.

"What in..." England trailed off as two figures emerged from the shadows. They both shone with an almost other-worldly light, though he had to say he'd seen stranger beings. Much stranger. In fact... there was something oddly familiar about these two.

The first of them was a tall man with messy brown hair, wearing some sort of Roman uniform and a big smile. And the second was...

"B-Britannia?" he stuttered, shocked.

The tall, red-haired woman looked insulted. "Really, lytling?" she gazed up at the ceiling, clearly exasperated. "_Ay._ I leave for a couple thousand years and he loses all respect for me. Well, I suppose my little one is gone..."

England was still slightly shocked. "Er... Mamma? Mam?"

"Oh, and I don't get a 'Pater' or something?" the Roman Empire said, teasingly. England sighed, he should have recognized that laugh the moment he heard it.

Britannia glared at him. "No, no you don't. Thief," she said, hitting him on the head.

Rome shrugged off her assault, then laughed again as Britannia sent a withering glare in his direction.

"So sensitive..." he said, chuckling.

Gathering his wits about him, England turned to his mother, still shocked, but making an attempt to appear calmer and more collected than he really was. After all, the only good way to face the unknown - or just plain _bizarre_ - was with a clear head. He'd dealt with magic often enough to know _that_.

"So I'm assuming this isn't just a...er... social visit?" he said, looking her in the eyes.

"Lytling, as much as I'd love to catch up with you, do you think I'd have come with_ him_ if it was?" She pointed back at Rome, who had become bored and started to wander around the hotel room.

"Well -"

"- anyways, lytling, I'm disappointed. You could've tried to contact me before now."

"Contact? Erm...I... never crossed my mind. It's impossible, isn't it?"

"You still practice magic, don't you?"

"Yes, of course, but contacting the...erm... dead..."

"Oh, it's probably impossible, but some _effort_ would've been nice."

Memories of a very scatterbrained Britannia were beginning to return to him. How exactly had he survived his childhood again? He wasn't sure.

"And especially considering everything that's happened since. You never even thought I might like to know I'm a grandmam? Even if they are all adopted..."

England blanched. "Those are... awkward... circumstances. I think America and the others are better thought of as foster-children. Or my younger siblings."

"Bah, they're not siblings. They're unrelated. And I want grandchildren. Plus, most of them are cuter than you and your brothers were. Especially those North American boys."

England slapped his forehead and let his hand slide slowly down his face. Dear God, the last thing he needed was for Britannia to become an obsessive grandmother. A whole new fear to add to his list. Which had already lengthened considerably upon discovering her existence. He supposed, however, that assumed this was actually happening, and not a very disturbing dream. If only he had some way to test it...

Britannia, on the other hand, wasn't about to give him any time to think.

"Honestly, do you have any idea how much the others go on and on about these things? Even him!" she pointed at Rome, who looked up from across the room where he was dismembering the TV guide to make paper airplanes and smiled.

"Him and his little Italies..." she muttered. "Now imagine my finding out you're an _empire_ with _dozens_ of colonies... well, let's just say it was a wonderful thing to shove in everyone's faces. But mostly Gaul's."

As much as he didn't want to yell at her, England sure felt like it.

"Could we shut up about my blasted former colonies?! I'm afraid they're giving me a bit of a headache already."

Britannia's face, which had been in a sort of distant, fantasizing state, snapped back to attention.

"No we may _not_. In fact, that's exactly why I'm -"

Rome gave a cough and she rolled her eyes.

"- we're here, in fact." She turned to Rome. "You're actually paying attention?"

Rome who had moved on to building what looked like a pillow fort, didn't respond.

Britannia shrugged. "He's hopeless..."

England, his interest piqued by a possible explanation as to his mother's unexpected visit, tried to ease her back onto the previous vein of conversation.

"So... why _are_ you here?"

Britannia narrowed her eyes. "Because you're stupid."

"Excuse me?" That wasn't exactly the response he'd been expecting. Especially not from... well, not from his mother. Again, he recalled some memories that brought his childhood into some serious questioning.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, lytling, you've turned out pretty well. But you're making a big mistake! Ay! Trom, cad tá tú ag smaoineamh agat-"

England rolled his eyes. "Mamma... you've slipped into Irish."

"Sorry. Happens when I'm angry. But honestly, what are you thinking?"

"About...?"

Rome, who'd shifted to awkwardly standing in the corner and raiding the minibar, decided to cut in. "I think she's referring to your little outburst earlier. And I agree. Who misses a party? _A convivium!_"

England felt like crawling into a hole. "I don't think you understand how utterly obnoxio-"

"Bah, you boys were obnoxious too! Remember when I threatened to turn you all into frogs when you wouldn't stop bickering?"

"And worms and snails and dogs..."

"Exactly," she said, folding her arms in satisfaction. "You were a pain. But you were also family. And did I ever skip out on _you_ on Christmas?"

"...we didn't celebrate Christmas."

"Alban Arthuan!"

"Saturnalia!"

Britannia and Rome both spoke at the same time, then glared at each other.

"Well, I still don't see how it's a problem..." England said, wishing the... he assumed they were ghosts... would just leave him alone. A this rate, he was _never_ going to finish his book. For the first time in over a hundred and fifty years. Hadn't he skipped out on the party for alone time in the first place?

"Let me give you a little advice, former Empire to former Empire. Licuit?" Rome put an arm around England.

"What do you mean _former_ Empire, you git?"

"Well, hard as it may be to believe," Rome said, in total seriousness, "I_ am_ dead, so that sort of diminishes my status."

"But that's not what I-"

"Anyway, let me give you some advice. These things are important." Rome looked sort of wistful. "Someday, you'll find yourself wishing you spent more time with some certain nations. _Especially_ the younger ones."

"I highly doubt that. If anything, I wish they'd spend _less_ time with me..."

Rome shook his head. "Believe me, I know. And if you never do... well, one of the worst things in world is having someone believe you meant it."

"Huh?"

Rome whispered something under his breath that sounded like _"I'm sorry, boys."_

England raised an eyebrow. This was getting more and more awkward by the minute. "Well, good to see you, then. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to my reading. It was lovely talking with-"

"Hush," Britannia said, holding out a finger. She turned to Rome. "He's not going to listen to reason."

"_Thank you_ Mam. Now-"

"-But that doesn't mean we're giving up," she said turning back to him and glaring pointedly. Then her eyes narrowed, focusing on something a little to his left. England turned to see only his book sitting next to him. What was she staring at?

Britannia got a look of epiphany on her face. "Oh no, definitely not giving up. In fact, lytling, you've given me an idea. Rome, are you acquainted with..." she trailed off, giving a meaningful glance towards the book.

Rome looked confused for a moment, then got a similar look on his face. "-Oooh, I follow you. Plane et lucide. Shall I call them up now?"

"Not just yet."

"I don't understand a word you've said," England muttered "I get the feeling I should be worried about that."

"Very." Britannia said absentmindedly. "Lytling, you are about to have an adventure. Some friends of ours from the afterlife should be able to help you out."

"What are you talking about?!"

"You will be visited by three more spirits," Britannia said, a dramatic purple-black aura developing around her. "And I'd suggest being less sarcastic with them. Especially the last one."

"Three spirits...?" he thought for a moment, then rolled his eyes. "Oh, _seriously_ mam? You think you can-"

She shook her index finger. "_M-m-m_. You have a long night ahead of you," she said. "Expect the first visitor when the clock strikes one."

Her outline, along with Rome's, began to vanish, blurring into the darkness of the room. Purple and black mixed with the shadows cast about the room, and the ghosts slowly vanished into nothing. Soon, they were gone.

_"Have fun!"_ Rome's sing-song voice rang out one last time, despite the fact he was no longer visible.

Immediately after, Britannia's disembodied voice pierced the room. _"And give the twins a Christmas present from me, okay lytling?"_

Then? Silence. There was no sign that the visitors had ever been there.

England stood dumbstruck in the middle of his kitchen, trying to process what had just happened. He walked over to the armchair and sunk back in the seat, picking up the book, staring at it. He looked up at the place where the ancient spirits had vanished. Then back to the book. Slowly, an idea dawned on him.

"I'm having one of those bizarre dreams, aren't I?" he said aloud. "One of those ones where you don't realize when you wake up! I fell asleep in this chair, reading! And that's why they mentioned three spirits. And..." He chuckled. "And I need to cut down on reading before bed, it appears."

Of course, he was conveniently ignoring that, on the counter, there was a (now very cold) cup of tea.

* * *

A/N:_ "__It __came upon the midnight clear, that glorious song of old..."_

So begins the carol that this chapter derives its name from. Most of my friends don't actually know it, so you might want to look it up. It's really quite pretty. But I chose it because of the third verse, which says:

_"Yet with the woes of sin and strife_  
_The world has suffered long;_  
_Beneath the heavenly hymn have rolled_  
_Two thousand years of wrong._  
_And man, at war with man, hears not_  
_The tidings which they bring_  
_O hush the noise and cease your strife,_  
_And hear the angels sing"_

Hears not is right. Silly England, why won't you listen to your mum? And come to think of it, the first line of the first verse works rather well indeed (whole _"song of old"_ bit).

And yes, I know in the original Christmas Carol there was only one Marley, but I will admit to being slightly swayed by the Muppet version (great movie, by the way...) where Statler and Waldorf filled in. xD

For this chapter, I suppose I need a few translations:  
Mam/Mamma - mother (Old English)

Pater - father (Latin)

lytling - child (Old English)  
Trom, cad tá tú ag smaoineamh agat - Seriously, what are you- (Irish)  
A convivium! - A party! (Latin)  
Liciut? - Alright? (Latin)  
Plane et lucide - Very clearly (Latin)

I suppose some historical explanations might be nice too. Nothing big in this chapter, minus references to Alban Arthuran and Saturnalia (the closest Celtic and Roman, respectively, equivalents to Christmas I could come up with for the spirits to mention).

Ah, and I decided to make Britannia a bit of a rival with Gaul, considering how well some of their children get along. (*coughcough*France and England*coughcough*). Plus - I'll be honest here - I really like the idea of Britannia finding England's "kids" adorable. I can just imagine all the ancients (they _are_ mostly female, right?) in whatever nation-afterlife exists, bragging about their "grandchildren". Like little old ladies. Armed with wallets of fold-out pictures. (You know you've met some. Don't lie.)

Aside from that, I don't think there's too much to explain. Not until next chapter, where I dig into some serious history with the Ghost of Christmas Past.

Anyway, England has no idea what he's in for *maniacal grin*, but I'm excited. Chapter Three should be up pretty soon as well, along with the aforementioned first of our ghosts - who also bears a suspicious resemblance to another Hetalia character. If you'd like, take a guess in the reviews. I'd love to see who you guys think it might be. =D

Thanks once again for the follows, reviews, and favorites - you've got me all fired up about this story now!


	3. Chapter 3 - Coventry Carol

Chapter 3 - Coventry Carol

* * *

'Ello everyone! This chapter's a bit later than I wanted, but I had an orchestra concert and a ridiculous amount of Chinese homework. A warning: the update schedule for this story shall be rather weekend heavy. I would like to have it finished by Christmas though. A little present from me. =)

Speaking of presents, thanks to all you for the follows, faves, and reviews. Since there's only a few, I shall thank you all PERSONALLY because they just make my day that much.  
So, the awesome **MysticDacora**, **explosionsandtaffy**, and **silverheartlugia2000** all get shout-outs for the favorites, and everyone who reviewed last chapter gets a personal response. =D

**silverheartlugia2000** - Glad you liked it! I never thought of Native America as a ghost, but that's an interesting idea. This fic is pretty England-centric though, so I might save it for another day.  
**(guest reviewer)** - Yay! Well you'll get to see who it is in this chapter...  
**chukaliteluvver** - And reviews make MY day, so I guess we're even. Believe me, I really want to make America a ghost - his worst fear! xD - but I'm not sure it'll work for my story purposes. I tossed out a gag related to that in this chapter though - I'll bet you can catch it.

Thanks again everyone!

* * *

_"Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?" asked Scrooge._

_"I am!"_

_The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance._

_"Who, and what are you?" Scrooge demanded._

_"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."_

_"Long Past?" inquired Scrooge: observant of its dwarfish stature._

_"No. Your past."_

_- A Christmas Carol_

*ヘタリア*

An hour later, England looked around the room cautiously. If the strange events of earlier that evening were anything to go by, he had more than reason enough be a bit on his toes, right about now.

Ding!

The little hotel clock gave a small noise, to indicate the new hour. One o'clock. It was a tad anticlimactic really - only a larger, deeper bell could have done his feelings justice.

Warily, he scanned the room from his seat, gripping the arms of the chair as if his life depended on it. Realising this, he loosened up. What was he so scared of? This, if it was even real, was just magic. He could deal with magic. He relaxed his grip. Getting all worked up over ghosts... who was he, America?

"Bah. Can't scare the British Empire that easily..." he said, satisfied.

"Good," a quiet voice from somewhere in the room said, "because I was under the impression that you might be a little difficult."

England started, turning around and peering over the back of his chair.

Nothing.

He turned back around.

"Gah! Where did you come from?" he said, surprised. A glowing figure stood only a few feet from his seat.  
He wore a warm-looking white ski jacket and boots, his blonde hair peeking out from under red earmuffs. Actually... with those glasses perched on the end of his nose and the fact that he was accompanied by a small polar bear, he looked vaguely familiar. More than vaguely... he looked exactly like...erm... what's-his-name...? Ah, yes...

"...Canada?"

The figure looked at him, confused.. "...Who?"

England raised an eyebrow... "Okay, what's going on? What are you doing in here?"

"Erm... didn't Britannia explain this?"

"Wait, are you one of the spirits she was talking about?"

"Duh. What do I look like, eh?"

Blast it. Either his dream was continuing, or he was really in for it.

_"Actually, you look exactly like someone I know. And talk like him too..."_ England wanted to say. Instead, he simply looked the spirit up and down a bit.

"Sorry, you just looked familiar."

The ghost-who-was-apparently-not-Canada thought for a moment. "Huh. Well, anyway, it's nice to meet you. We're the ghosts of Christmas Past."

"We?"

The ghost picked up his polar bear and extended it towards him.

"The bear is a ghost too? I thought there was only one-"

"-well, if you want to get all technical, he's the Ghost of Really Really Old Christmas and I'm the Ghost of Christmas Slightly More Recent. Normally they just send me, hence the overall name of "past", but you being a nation and all, we've got some ground to cover tonight."

"...I see."

"Well don't sound so sarcastic about it, eh? You can still call me 'Past' if you like."

"As I said, I was under the impression that there was only one of you," he said. "Three, in total. Past, Present, and Yet-to-Come. You know, the usual."

Past laughed. "Oh no, there are ghosts for everything."

"Such as...?"

"Well, there's my brother, the ghost of irony, but that's beside the point," The spirit said, adjusting his earmuffs. Apparently he wasn't in the mood for a conversation.

"Are you ready then?"

"Actually, I wasn't planning on going anywhere this evening," England said, mildly annoyed.

"Oh, that's too bad. Here, grab this," the spirit said, holding out a hockey stick.

"Where did - are you sure you're not someone I know?"

"I swear, I've never met you before in my life. Now grab it."

England obliged, only to find himself yanked off the ground.

"What the-"

"Hold on tight!" the ghost said cheerfully. Suddenly, the room around him began to spin. His vision swam, and he felt like he was going to black out. There was a flash of light, and the next thing he knew, he was on the floor. A very cold, hard floor. He groaned, pushing himself up and putting a hand up to his head, trying to shake away the dizziness.

"What in..." England trailed off as he pulled himself up.

"Shhh..." the spirit, who was standing next to him as if nothing had happened. He held a finger to his lips and pointed forwards. It was then that England realized he was no longer in his hotel room. Instead, he was in a long hall, where a large group of people were gathered at the other end.

"Gah! How did we-"

"Oh please, aren't you the one who practices magic all the time? It's not that weird, eh?"

"You could have warned me," he said, looking down at his flannel pants and oversize Doctor Who T-shirt and blushing. He crossed his arms, indignant. "I dressed for bed, not traveling."

Past laughed. "Don't worry, they can't see you. However, you should probably pay attention. I'd be surprised if you honestly remembered all this."

"Remember...?" England looked around him, and was hit with a sudden wave of realization. "Why did you... what... I don't..."

"What, did you think the Ghosts of Christmas Past were going to take you to the future or something? Welcome - welcome back, that is - to London, in 1066. Westminster Abbey, to be precise."

England felt like he was going to faint and fall right back down again. The spirit held out an arm and kept him steady, rolling his eyes

"Don't be so melodramatic... We brought you here for a reason, you know. Now look."

The spirit gestured towards a small figure, huddled off to the side of the group.

England looked looked closer. The child sat off to the side, wiping his eyes and sniffling slightly. He rocked back and forth slightly, arms wrapped around his knees. It was a small boy, wearing a green cloak with the hood pulled over his head.

With unmistakable messy blonde hair and green eyes.

England felt light-headed, wondering how many more near-fainting experiences he could go through before he actually became unconscious.

"You were kinda cute when you were little," the spirit said thoughtfully. "I wonder what happened?"

"What's that supposed to mean, you git?"

The spirit just smiled. "Nothing. Well, don't you want to pay yourself a visit?"

"Not particularly."

The spirit pushed his forward, until he found himself only several feet away from his younger self. England looked at the child sadly.

"I remember this Christmas," he said, shooting a glare at the crowd at the other end of the hall.

"The coronation of William the Conqueror," the spirit said in agreement. "What else do you remember?" he asked curiously.

England opened his mouth, as if he was about to say something, but shut it again, deciding not to. He'd just recalled something else. Something rather embarrassing.

"Oh, come on..." the spirit said. "We're not getting anywhere with you clammed up like that, eh?"

Before England could shake his head in response, someone in the hall spoke.

"_Hé_, petite Angleterre..."

He and the spirit whirled around. Another young nation had appeared behind little England, causing both the youth and the elder to scowl. Unbeknownst to either, their expressions looked practically identical.

The other boy was taller and appeared slightly older, perhaps in his early teens, and was wearing a long tunic. His blonde hair fell around his shoulders.

"France," both Englands said, in almost identical tones of contempt.

"Oui," the young nation said, putting a hand on little England's shoulder. "Do not be sad, little one."

"Don't be sad?" the boy pushed France's hand away, "Oh, that's great advice. Especially coming from the problem himself."

The other nation got an embarrassed look on his face.

"And, un, why would you say that, anyway, I'm not sad. In fact, I -"

France cut England off. "You are still mad?" He looked hurt.

Little England gave a sarcastic laugh. "Oh no, obviously not. After all, I have no reason to be." The young nation uncurled himself from his sitting position, spreading his legs out on the stone floor and pulling off his hood. His face now fully revealed, he pointed to his left eye. It was surrounded by a massive bruise, black and blue with shades of green and yellow mixed in.

"Hastings," the young nation said bitterly. "I forgot to thank you."

"But that was two months ago! How is it still -"

"Hm," little England retained his sarcasm, "never mind then, it doesn't hurt since its so old. No wait - on second thought - it does. And... I still hate you."

France studied the younger nation's face. "Well, I apologize. I was hoping that perhaps now that we-"

"There's no 'we', this is all just temporary," little England gestured towards the coronation procession. "Forget the 'we'."

France looked thoughtful, then bent down to look the younger nation in the eyes.

"You're scared, aren't you?"

England's voice cracked, and he turned his head away. "S-scared of what?"

"I'm not sure," France said, "but I can tell you you don't have to be. Big Brother France will take care of you."

Little England turned back to face France. "Promi - er - I mean... Why? You?" he gave another sarcastic laugh.

"Because I want to. Yes, I promise."

France put his hand on the young nation's shoulder again. This time it wasn't pushed away.

The younger nation started sniffling a little, obviously making an effort not to, but failing. "I-I don't know what to do..." little England admitted, finally looking France in the eyes.

"I will help. But please... can we be friends?" France said softly, pulling back the younger nation's cloak.

The child wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

"Maybe," he said, distrust still evident in his voice. "Probably not though."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"For now, frog."

Now, France laughed. "Of course. Remember... I promise."

He stood up, and the smaller nation rose with him. France pulled him into a hug. Surprisingly, he did not object.

"Now come, you should watch the coronation. He _is_ your king, after all."

The two young nations walked away, towards the crowd.

A few feet away, the older England frowned and turned towards the spirit.

"A fat lot of good those promises did. Stupid frog."

"Why?" Past said.

"Oh, come on, the Normans were awful! Taking control of the land - my land - and the church, replacing the aristocracy, messing with my language... then of course, there was all the stuff that happened when my people tried to free themselves -"

"- Oh, so now we're talking about rebellion, eh? And injustice?"

"Of course! He broke his promises. End of story. I'm afraid you've achieved nothing," England said, smugly crossing his arms.

"Oh, but we're just getting started," the spirit said, equally smugly. "And I know exactly what we should look at next. In fact, you've suggested it yourself."

"I did no such-"

"You know the drill," the spirit said, holding out his hockey stick.

"I am _not_ grabbing that bloody thing again. I think I still have a headache from the last ride."

"You want to get home again, don't you?"

"...well..."

"Grab it."

England grudgingly obliged.

* * *

A/N: Hm... where might England be going next? I'm sure some of you can figure _that_ out. I was being rather blatant with my hints. So sue me. Before the obvious answer though, he and the ghosts have a slight detour. I'll be interested to see if anyone catches that one.

Yes, Canada is my ghost of Christmas Past. Or Christmas Slightly-More-Recent, as it may be. In Dickens' novel, the ghost is described as being child-like (and yet... not...), and seems rather... nice. Friendly, really. Plus - get this - the spirit is oddly, almost supernaturally soft-spoken. xD

And yeah, I also threw in a Doctor Who shirt. Come on, it totally makes sense - especially for a story that kinda involves time travel. But I digress.

Before I dig into my history segment, here are my translations:  
Hé - Hey  
petite Angleterre - little England

So now onto the "past" portion. Warning: I am a history _geek_, so you're welcome to skip this bit, it'll last a while. Really. Just scroll on down, I won't be offended. Unless of course, you're interested, in which case I shall high-five you over the internet. *high-fives*  
William the Conqueror really _was_ coronated on December 25. Convenient, huh? I wanted an experience for young England that would be comparable to that of young Scrooge in the novel, which meant I needed to find a childhood event that would exhibit his being lonely. And someone to come and snap him out of it. So when France conveniently pranced into the story, I jumped at the idea.  
Anyway. Norman invasion of England. 1066. It goes down pretty much like this. Edward the Confessor dies in January of that year, without an heir, resulting in the rise of Harold Godwinson to the throne. But, as it seems is pretty typical in cases of royal inheritance back then, this wasn't an entirely clear-cut decision. See, there were two others - well, two other major players, at the time (in honesty, there were even _more_...) - who claimed they should get the position instead. Ol' Will was one (his great-aunt, Emma of Normandy, married Æthelred II, the earlier king of England, and was the mother of Edward). The other was Harald III of Norway.  
Yes, _Norway_.  
It was part of a complicated agreement in which the English and Norwegian kings agreed to hand over their kingdoms to each other in terminal cases of heirless-ness. Despite this seeming like a pretty legitimate claim, everyone always forgets about that, and Harald gets left out of the story. Maybe they just don't want to deal with two guys whose names sound like "Harold".  
Anyway, Will and other Harald feel kinda gypped, so they decide to invade England.

Separately.  
If you're Harold, at this point, you're quaking in your little Anglo-Saxon boots. Because not only did he have two armies ready to invade the country he was suddenly in charge of, some of his people weren't real fond of him anyway. His dad, Godwin (Godwin... Godwinson... I see what they did there...) kind of murdered the previous king's brother, Alfred. Yes, _Alfred._ Snicker all you want, but this poor Alfred's story is unfortunately anything but funny. Godwin tricked him, tied him to a horse, and put his eyes out. He died shortly afterwards, before you could say "Well, there goes the guy who was supposed to become king of England..." And that's probably one reason there wasn't an heir, and this whole mess happened in the first place.  
But back to the invasion. Harald of Norway teams up with Tostig, Harold Godwinson's little brother. Apparently he wasn't too happy about the "eldest getting the crown" thing. These guys get their butts kicked so badly (Battle of Stamford Bridge, for anyone who's interested) that by the time Harold's done with their forces, they only need 24 boats to get everyone home.  
There were 300 that brought them there.  
So with Tostig and Harald dead, the Norwegians kinda gave up. But William is in even better position than before, seeing as Harold's men are all worn out at this point. So the guy rounds up a huge army, with forces from not just Normandy, but _all over France_. They land at Pevensey, in Sussex, occupy an old Roman fort/castle by September (Which - interestingly - was later used as a lookout for German planes in WWII. Go figure), and wait for the fun to start.  
Poor Harold doesn't find out about the Normans until after Stamford Bridge, so he has to send his army straight down there. They reach Hastings, near the French troops, in October. And that's where it all goes downhill for the English. On the 14th, in the Battle of Hastings, they lose and Harold is killed - no one knows quite how but, it's traditionally from an arrow to the eye (according to the Bayeux tapestry, at least). So that's why I gave poor little England a black eye - I decided it might be an appropriately symbolic representation of the battle.  
At this point, William has to feel decent about his chances. But the English don't._ Instead_, they make Edgar the Ætheling, king. Stubborn guys. I bet England was involved in that somehow. And get this - the guy they crown actually still a teenager. He's the last remaining member of the house of Wessex though, the original English royal family. Which is kinda sad, because they were awesome. The house of Wessex included the only English monarch apparently epic enough to ever get the epithet "the Great". Wait who? Yes, Alfred (the Great).  
But don't tell America that. He may not be British (anymore *cough*), but that'd still inflate his ego.  
Edgar, on the other hand, never gets crowned - William attacks the area around London, picking off his supporters until they surrender. He wasn't exactly in the position to be a great military commander, poor guy.  
And that, folks, is how to become King of England. At least, if you're William the Conqueror it is. (Huh, I wonder where _that_ epithet came from... oh.)  
A lot of English resistance kept popping up afterwards, so England's clearly unconvinced that this is good - heck, Harold's _mother_ got involved. Something about her son being killed got on her nerves.

Back in England, a fair amount of the aristocracy was replaced with Norman lords, the English often exiled. Others emigrated and kept trying to attack. Other notable Norman impositions include the replacement or Old English with Anglo-Norman in areas like goverment, something England _can't_ have been real happy with.  
I hope I've explained myself. This is really long... xD

If you're still with me, I'll explain the carol a bit too. As this chapter concerns England's childhood, I wanted a traditional English melody (although I did look at some French ones as well). And somehow, I ended up picking one of the most depressing carols of all time - lovely, right? (Actually, I have an even more depressing one, but I'm saving it for later in the story. Mwah ha ha...) I guess this isn't exactly the happiest chapter though...  
Coventry Carol, which comes from a 16th century Corpus Christi guild pageant, is about the Massacre of the Innocents. (To anyone who knows the Christmas story: this is when King Herod killed all those babies trying to get rid of Jesus. To anyone who doesn't: just know it's about little kids dying. I told you it was depressing...) Specifically, it's the lament of a mother who knows her child is doomed. Again, lovely, right? Here's the song in its entirety. It's rather short.

_Lully, lullay, Thou little tiny Child,_  
_Bye, bye, lully, lullay._  
_Lullay, thou little tiny Child,_  
_Bye, bye, lully, lullay._

_O sisters too, how may we do,_  
_For to preserve this day_  
_This poor youngling for whom we do sing_  
_Bye, bye, lully, lullay._

_Herod, the king, in his raging,_  
_Charged he hath this day_  
_His men of might, in his own sight,_  
_All young children to slay._

_That woe is me, poor Child for Thee!_  
_And ever mourn and sigh,_  
_For thy parting neither say nor sing,_  
_Bye, bye, lully, lullay._

I thought the fact that it was about a child, written to resemble a lullaby, that it mentions a king (who's seriously messing stuff up for said kid), and that it's this truly amazing, haunting English melody was perfect for the chapter, although I almost named this one "In the Bleak Midwinter", if anyone's curious. If you don't know the tune, I highly suggest looking it up! It doesn't have the same effect without it. And it really is a beautiful song. You know, in an eerie, depressing, doomed-child sort of way.

*deep breath* I apologize for the crazy-long author's note. I like to explain myself. You guys are all awesome for reading this, and reviews are still very much appreciated. Chapter 4 should be up sooner than this one was - the marvel that is the weekend has arrived!


	4. Chapter 4 - What Child is This?

Chapter 4 - What Child is This?

* * *

See? I held to my promise guys! *Is proud of herself* I got this up quickly!  
So a lot of you guys totally called the main event in this chapter - pat yourselves on the back for being smart. It occurs to me that, for having America listed as a main character, he's only showed up in one chapter. Well that all changes here... xD  
Thanks to **kunekomimi96** for the fave! And as for reviews:

**silverheartlugia** - May I first just thank you for your dedication? Every. Single. Chapter. (Good call on the date, too)

**Fourth in Command Cixalea Jwan** - *blushes* I'm glad you appreciate it! I plan on sticking with the book for most things, so I hope you'll remain pleased. I don't think Sealand will be Tiny Tim, unless I change my plot drastically. But I almost made him the Ghost of Christmas Past...

Disclaimer: I've been forgetting this. Oops. I do not own Hetalia. Or a Christmas Carol.

* * *

_"You fear the world too much," she answered, gently. "All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one...Have I not?"_

_"What then?" he retorted. "Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? I am not changed towards you."_

_She shook her head._

_"Am I?"_

_- A Christmas Carol_

*ヘタリア*

When the spinning stopped once more, England found himself in softly falling snow. He and the spirits stood in a small clearing, surrounded by forest on all sides, in a white blanket several inches deep. Lazy flakes floated on by, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Not far away, England could make out the glowing windows of a house, their flickering intensity disclosing that it was lit by candles and firelight.

He shut his eyes and raised his head to the sky, letting the soft snow fall in his face. A light breeze tossed his hair about. He didn't want to admit it, not to himself, and _certainly_ not to the spirit who had so rudely pulled him from his evening, but their last visit had certainly gotten him thinking. A little.

_Maybe I was a little quick to judge... no, no, NO! How can this be getting to me already? Broken promises. Nothing more._

Just a little.

Opening his eyes again, he turned to the spirit.

"Where are we now?" he asked.

"You don't recognize it?" the spirit asked. "Look closer."

England peered past the gently falling snow and towards the firelight. He took a few steps forward, leaving light indents in the snow behind him.

He and the spirits stood outside a small, snugly built log home. Not quite a cabin, but still fairly modest in its size and shape. Snow blanketed the roof, and icicles helped mask the frosty windows, icy swirls and patterns obvious on the glass. The place looked familiar, but he couldn't place the time period.

"Spirit," he asked, "what year is it? Where we are right now, I mean."

The ghost looked disappointed. "You can't tell? Look inside."

England rolled his eyes. Of course the spirit wouldn't make things easy for him. He leaned towards the window and rubbed the frosty glass, making a clear patch that allowed him to see inside.

What he saw was a scene right out of a Christmas card. The window gave him a clear view of the home's parlor area, where a warm fire crackled in its hearth. The room was modestly but cheerfully decorated for Christmas, greenery all around, with a fresh holly garland along the banister of the stairway at the back. Candles were everywhere, in various states of illumination. On the floor, a man sat with two younger boys, probably around the age of 7 or 8.

England scrutinized the blonde twins closely.

"Are they who I think they are?" he asked the spirit, his voice catching slightly in his throat.

"Welcome to the American colonies, 1763," the spirit said. "One of your happier Christmases, I think."

England almost said something, but hesitated. The lump in his throat refused vanish. Seeing America and Canada so young... it was hard to reconcile them with the the boys who'd left messages on his answering machine just this evening.

Especially America.

"Shall we step inside?" the spirit asked. "I think it might be good to hear a bit of their conversation, eh?"

England nodded, following the spirit. Before he knew what had happened, they were inside the warm room. Which was odd, seeing as he didn't recall their walking through the door. Just one more strange thing to add to an already bizarre evening.

America and Canada were happily huddled together under a heavy wool blanket, looking paradoxically sleepy and yet very much awake at the same time. England looked at the younger version of himself, noting the look of contentment on his face.

_When was the last time I looked like that recently?_ He wondered, shaking off the thought to listen to the trio from the past.

"England, are there any more of those cookies?" America poked his head out higher from under the blanket.

"More?" the past England raised his eyebrow. "You can't possibly still be hungry."

America looked sheepish. "They were really good..."

The modern-day England looked at the spirit. "See! There was a time when he liked my food!"

"Because children so often turn down dessert..."

"Bah, never mind," England said, turning his attention back towards the boys, who were impatiently shuffling under the blankets.

"When is it going to be Christmas?" America said, abruptly changing the subject.

"Not for some time," the past England said, glancing up at a clock, slowly ticking on the mantle. "Which is why you should probably be getting to bed about now."

"But we're not sleepy!" America protested adamantly.

Canada was quieter in his resistance. "I don't mind staying up..."

Past England rolled his eyes. "You know that going to sleep will only make it come faster, don't you?"

"Yeah, but that's no fun. When you go to sleep, you're all alone. It's better to wait with other people!" America squeezed his brother in a tight hug. The little Canadian looked surprised, but returned the affection.

Past England smiled. "Alright then. If you insist. "

The trio was quiet for a moment. But suddenly, America jumped up, letting the blanket fall to the floor around Canada.

"Let's go look at the snow!" he said excitedly, grabbing the other boy's hand and dragging him to the window. Past England followed them slowly.

Taking seats on the little window-seat near the door, the two little colonies gazed out at the stars, transfixed by their soft light on the snow.

"C'est magique..." Canada whispered under his breath.

"What was that?" Past England asked sharply, walking up behind him.

Canada shrank, wrapping the blanket tightly around him. "N-Nothi-"

"- Um, he was just talking about the stars. They're so beautiful, aren't they? Hey, England, didn't you say we could make wishes on stars before? I wanna make wishes, will they actually come true? Because if they do, I'm going to wish for... for... um... I don't know. But I'll make lots and lots of wishes!"

Past England, sufficiently distracted, tousled America's hair. "You can only make wishes on shooting stars lad, and even then, I'm not making any promises."

"C'mon Canada, let's watch for shooting stars! I wanna wish for more cookies!"

"O-okay!"

Past England snorted. "Out of everything, that's where your brain went?"

"Well... yeah!" America shot him a grin. "Why? What would you wish for?"

The younger England looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I suppose I'd wish that you two stay safe."

America laughed. "Stay safe? That's silly. You don't have to worry about that. _I'll_ make sure we all stay safe._ Nobody_ can get past me!" the little nation puffed out his chest and pointed at himself, looking more than a little ridiculous.

"M-hm," past England was clearly attempting to restrain a smile. "While you two work on that - looking for shooting stars, that is - why don't I get you some cider? It's getting rather cold."

"Yeah!"

As their caretaker stepped into the kitchen, the two young nations turned their attention outside once again. But soon, Canada turned back to his brother.

"What about bears?" he asked curiously.

"Huh?"

"You said nothing could get past you. But what about bears?"

America's face fell. "Okay, maybe bears. But nothing else."

"What about... thunderstorms?"

"Silly Canada, you can't stop a thunderstorm."

"But that doesn't mean they're not scary, right?"

"I guess..." America shrugged.

"What about... England?"

"What are you talking about?"

"He's kinda scary."

America laughed. "No he isn't! You're funny, Canada."

But the small nation shook his head. "No, he is. Like when he gets mad at me for speaking French, and I can't help it."

"Nah, that's not scary. And I'll make sure he doesn't get mad - remember? Nothing scares me."

"Except bears."

"Except bears," he conceded.

They were quiet for a moment.

"Merci," Canada whispered to his brother.

"What does that mean?" America responded, in his too-loud whisper.

"Thank you."

"Aw, it's nothing. And I think your French is cool, it's like a secret code." America hugged his brother again.

England looked at the two little boys, staring out the window.

"He was... scared of me?"

The spirit nodded. "Of course. Heck, just a few months earlier you took him from his home with France. He didn't know if you could trust you. For the longest time, you'd been the enemy."

"But..." England had to remind himself that he was merely talking to a Canada look-alike spirit, not the nation himself.

"Hey, remember, just a few years later his brother was singing a different tune himself."

"Why you little -" England found himself cut off by his own voice. The 1763 England had returned to the room.

"Lads, are you...?" he trailed off, and smiled. "Little rascals. I knew they were tired."

On the window seat, America and Canada leaned on each other, their eyes closed, clearly asleep. They looked peaceful.

The 1763 England sat down next to them, careful not to disturb their rest. He ran his fingers gently through America's golden hair, tangled from hiding under a blanket.

"Happy Christmas, boys."

Forgetting the spirit's previous comment as he was lost in memories of a happier time, England found himself wishing they could stay a bit longer. But Past would have none of that.

"Well then, time to be moving on. My time grows short," he said, and England found himself outside in the snow once again.

"W-what?" he shivered slightly. The wind was clearly picking up, and he found it harder and harder to see the little house and it's glowing windows, protected from the gale, which was gaining strength by the second. The light appeared to fade.

"Promises, promises," the spirit sang, in a most un-Canada-like, mocking tone.

"But we-"

"We?" the spirit said, his voice still slightly unsettling. "Oh, we know all about your feelings there, eh? On _'we'._"

"I swear I don't understand a bloody word you're-"

The spirit smiled grimly " Oh, I'm just trying to remember another little nation's comment. I believe you're familiar with him."

"Huh?"

"'There is no 'we', this is all just temporary...' Wasn't that what you said?"

"A-About a thousand years ago!"

"Hey it's only about 700 away from where we're going next. Another memorable Christmas, I think you'll agree."

At this point, the blowing snow was practically blinding. England was glad for the strange bubble of warmth that seemed to surround him and the spirit - he was sure that, if actually exposed to these conditions, he'd develop hypothermia or frostbite in minutes. The spirit raised his hockey stick.

"Don't worry," he said, "you don't even need to grab on this time."

The snow swirled more and more oppressively the higher he held it, until practically all England knew was white. Wind roared in his ears, and he felt the tips of his fingers grow cold.

The spirit lowered the stick, and the wind decreased - though only slightly - giving England a view of a gloomy riverbank in the midst of a horrible blizzard. Dark shapes moved about, intent on some work, but he couldn't make out what.

Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out, a shout barely audible over the storm.

"General!"

England faltered. "America?"  
T

he spirit gave his another smug smile. "Welcome to Christmas day - or I suppose night, now - 1776."

England felt his heart drop. "Please - anything but this Christmas. Anything!"

"Oh, but you've never really seen it!"

"Never really - I was there, you git! Not at the attack itself, but-"

"-Uh-uh-uh," the spirit chastised. "The attack was on the 26th, to begin with. And you were never _here_. Though I suppose I'll have to do something about this snow."

The ghost set down his polar bear and pulled out the hockey stick again. There was a crack and some lights reminiscent of an aurora borealis snaked out from the paddle. The snow in their immediate vicinity relented slightly, giving England a clear picture of the surrounding area.

Several feet away, a teen boy trudged through the snow, shielding his eyes with his hands (which were wrapped in thin rags in a feeble effort to prevent cold-related complications). England winced as he noticed the bloody footprints he left, the teen's feet covered in bandages and lacking shoes. Despite his slow progress, it was clear he was moving as quickly as he could, tripping over his own frostbitten feet in the high snowdrifts. He wore a tattered Continental Army uniform, which hung almost symbolically loosely around his thin frame. Thin, weak appearance aside, he was certainly yet to grow into it.

And yet despite his pathetic condition, the kid's face spoke of determination and pride, his blue eyes still expressing naive, youthful enthusiasm.

"A-America..." England repeated, his voice catching in his throat this time.

"He looks a little older," the ghost said nonchalantly. "To think, we saw the boy just a second ago. It was only about 13 years earlier. Awfully fast growth for a nation, eh? From a child to a teen that quickly?"

"Shut up!" England said. "I already told you, I don't wish to see this!"

The spirit shrugged. "Too bad. Look," he said, pointing back towards America.

The teen was approaching a larger group, next to the river. England could now discern that the shadowy figures were more ragtag men, many barely older than their nation appeared, were gathered near boats moored on the banks. Their leader turned to look at America.

"Yes?"

America, having caught up to him, panted, winding one of the strips of fabric on his hands more tightly. He coughed.

"General Washington, I'm coming with you."

"Are you sure?" the older man said, looking his nation in the eyes. His concern was evident. "Just a few days ago you were still unfit for service."

"I swear, I'm feeling better now. But even if I weren't, I wouldn't miss this for the world," the young nation gave a grin, another cough betraying his undeniably poor health. Under his loose uniform, he was shivering.

A fellow soldier, who had approached the general to ask a question, noticed the scene before him. He put a hand on America's shoulder.

"Al, why don't you just go back and rest? Remember, after we cross the river, we still have to walk several miles."

The soldier, around 19 or 20, turned to Washington. "I'm sorry sir, he's been acting like this ever since the 23rd."

The general gave a knowing smile. "Ah, so that's what got you feeling better. Remind me to thank Paine the next time I see him. Although I suppose it also poses the interesting dilemma of having you up and about again."

America gave a slightly guilty-looking smile and shrugged. "I need to come with you."

Washington gave him a skeptical look. "I think you overestimate your condition."

America laughed. "No, you overestimate it. You and everyone else fighting for freedom. That's why I'm here!" he coughed again, struck a pose and gave a smile, then dashed off to help some of the others, who were checking muskets before they loaded the ships, still awkwardly stumbling over his own feet. He fell into a drift, causing Washington and the young soldier to tense in alarm, then popped back up again, coughing but laughing, and gave them a thumbs up.

The general shook his head as he turned away. The young soldier who had been worried for America's safety simply looked confused.

"How does he do that?"

Washington gave a smile. "The same way we all do, William."

"But sir, we were all suspicious - no, positive - that he had pneumonia less than a _week_ ago! He was stuck in bed! He couldn't walk!"

"There's much to be said for the American spirit."

Though it was clear Will didn't understand the general's true meaning - how could he? - he seemed satisfied with the answer.

"Shall I make sure we have an extra musket then?"

"I think that might be a wise decision."

England turned towards Past, who gave him a more serious look than the nation had seen from the ghost all night.

"Two of his men died in that march, you know. They never even got to fight. Just died from exposure. By the time America got to the Hessian camp, he'd regressed significantly. Didn't even get to fight himself, which was all he wanted. That soldier there - he had to help him walk on the march there. A good kid, really."

"I-I had no idea." England wasn't sure if he should feel guilty or not. As much as he'd refuse to admit it, his overall feeling was not one of sympathy, but one of some sort of twisted satisfaction at America's having been brought down a notch. Served him right for getting to cocky.

The spirit, however, seemed to sense this. "Got something you want to say?" he said, twirling his hockey stick.

England glared at him, then snapped. Who was this... this... thing to make him feel guilty? He had no right, no right at all.

"How _dare_ you!" he shouted. "How _dare_ you act like _I'm_ the villain here! You have no bloody_ idea_ how hard it was for me to fight my own little brother - to know that he _wanted_ to fight me! Every time I saw him hurt - you have NO IDEA!"

The spirit shrugged nonchalantly. "No, but I do know you're taking a one-sided approach today. And you hold a fairly significant grudge. Ever ask him about it?"

"Why would I-"

"- ever ask him about it? Because sometimes you you have to face the truth in order to reconcile. Face it, you didn't even know this side of the story, did you?"

England clenched and unclenched his fists.

"That's it!"

He threw himself at the spirit, grappling for control of the hockey stick.

"Woah!" the ghost said, falling backwards into the snow. "Looks like we hit a nerve, eh?"

England fell over as well, feeling a sudden burst of cold as he landed in the soft drift behind them. He brushed himself off, glaring.

"I don't know who you think you are, but you have no right to do this!"

"You're repeating yourself. And for your information, I have every right," the ghost said smiling.

England flung himself back at the spirit, blinded by anger. Through clenched teeth, he hissed in a menacing voice, "Leave. Me. Alone."

The spirit, pinned down in the snow, gave a weak but taunting smile. "If you insist."

The two spirits vanished in a slow, golden starburst - the polar bear waiting patiently behind their scuffle vanishing along with his master. England found himself alone in the blowing snow, which picked up around him, faster and faster, the bitter cold finally piercing him as was to be expected. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the American soldiers' shouts as they prepared to set off. He shivered, then closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he found himself in his hotel room, all traces of the harsh New Jersey winter - and a war he wanted to forget - gone. No snow. No cold. No ghosts.

No America.

All was as it should be.

Right?

But if that was the case, why did he feel... guilty?

* * *

**A/N:** As suspected, you guys picked up on my clues. Yes, we indeed get to see the American revolution. Washington's Delaware crossing took place on Christmas evening and the morning of the 26th - of course, the spirit shows England the former, just as they are about to set off. More on that later.

I threw in the little scene with the colonies to resemble the novel a bit more. To anyone who recalls, Scrooge is first shown a happy scene, a Christmas party. The ghost then goes on to show him a more painful scene, only a bit later, in which a girl he loved (Belle) breaks off her engagement with him, citing him as "changed" and only wanting material gain. Something I think I could easily see a young America accusing England of, can't you? (Taxation, anyone? Sounds like his perspective to me...)

I chose "What Child is This?" as the chapter title for multiple reasons. First of all, it's another beautiful English melody. And second, I chose it for its lyrics - no, not the actual carol's , but the ones belonging to a different song of the same tune. Greensleeves.  
(I admit I chose the less-fitting name as the title, but seeing as "What Child is This?" is the Christmas tune, I felt it might serve my purpose better. Plus, out of context, it seems like a question England might've asked himself during the revolution. Something more along the lines of: "Heck, is this the same little kid I raised?")

The lyrics? Surprisingly fitting for this scene in both my story and the bit it parallels in the Dickens novel, in my opinion:

_Alas, my love, you do me wrong,_  
_To cast me off discourteously._  
_For I have loved you well and long,_  
_Delighting in your company._

_Greensleeves was all my joy_  
_Greensleeves was my delight,_  
_Greensleeves was my heart of gold,_  
_And who but my lady greensleeves._

_Your vows you've broken, like my heart,_  
_Oh, why did you so enrapture me?_  
_Now I remain in a world apart_  
_But my heart remains in captivity._

And then we'll skip to the last verse...

_Ah, Greensleeves, now farewell, adieu,_  
_To God I pray to prosper thee,_  
_For I am still thy lover true,_  
_Come once again and love me._

Onto the rest of the note! After last chapter, I think you know the drill now. First, some translations...

C'est magique - It's magic (French)  
Merci - Thanks (French)

...and then a history explosion of epic proportions. =D

I'll start it off with just a minor note on the colonial scene. 1763 was the year of the Treaty of Paris. (Well, the 1763 Treaty of Paris, that is. The one that ended the French and Indian War. There were even more. Including the 1783 one that ended the American Revolution, interestingly enough...) One result of this was that England gained the (formerly French) Canadian colonies. So little Canada's a bit apprehensive about his new caretaker. I could go into more detail about the war - including George Washington's role, considering he shows up later in the chapter but I'll spare you. Mostly because I want to focus on the revolution. Mwahaha...

So, revolution time. By the winter of 1776, the Americans were really losing morale. Seriously. That whole "Declaration of Independence" thing earlier that year had been nice, sure, but now that the army was very clearly - dare I say - failing miserably, lots of Continental Army soldiers were about ready to quit. A lot did. The army had recently suffered numerous defeats in New York. Heck, Washington himself wrote a cousin saying: "I think the game is pretty near up." Conditions were awful - although this wasn't actually the winter that typically gets that reputation. (It's a common misconception that the attack was launched from Valley Forge, which wins the prize for the "stereotypically referred to bad Revolutionary War winter", but they actually set up camp there in _1777_, a year _later._)

Anyway, with troops deserting right and left, Washington decides that they need to do something big, something to make people realize: "Hey, we can still win this!"

It's kind of a last-ditch effort, but definitely worth a shot. So he plans an attack on Trenton, New Jersey. It was actually pretty complicated - three different groups were supposed to attack from different crossing points on the Delaware - but two of them (one headed by John Cadwalader and one headed by James Ewing) didn't make it due to bad weather. They couldn't even cross the river, much less execute the planned attacks. So only Washington's troops were able to make it to the Hessian camp. And yes, I said _Hessian_. Not British. Sure, they were working together, but it's another common misconception that British troops were directly attacked at Trenton - at least, not in the attack on the 26th (hence the spirit's scolding of England). In fact, the attacks on the British in Princeton and New Brunswick had to be called off after Washington received word that the other two groups were unable to cross the Delaware.

While I'm busting misconceptions, let it also be said that the Battle of Trenton was not on Christmas Day. It was actually on the 26 - which is why the spirit shows England the start of the crossing, which actually did occur on the holiday. (Although it occurred at night, and took a little while, so it actually didn't even finish until the 26th either.)

There really was a huge blizzard (hence the reason the other troops weren't able to cross), which posed complications. On the other hand, it actually helped the Americans a bit - the weather was so bad, the Hessians didn't send out patrols that night.

Anyway, let it be said that the crossing wasn't exactly the event that's it's glorified to be today. Things went wrong - like the fact that it took way longer than Washington wanted, or that two groups (as mentioned before) never made it. And even after they crossed, the troops had to walk nine miles to get to the Hessian camp, in the inclement weather, resulting in two fatalities before the battle even started. Plus, some historians believe that, as a result, there were actually more American deaths than Hessian ones in the days afterwards, due to this very reason. Hence the spirit's talk of America's declining health. The march lead to exhaustion, exposure to the elements, and illness. Many of the soldiers didn't even have proper shoes, so they walked several miles in the snow with their feet wrapped in rags. Apparently the snow behind them became dark red. Think about that for a moment...

This whole time though, Washington rode up and down the line of men, personally encouraging them. He was determined. When told that the snow was getting the gunpowder wet and therefore impairing the army's firepower, he told everyone to _use their bayonets _because they were going to take the city no matter what. The password for the operation was _"Victory or Death!"_ So that's where I draw America's fighting attitude from. Plus, Washington wasn't the only one who was attempting to raise morale. A few days earlier, Thomas Paine published the first of his American Crisis pamphlets. On the 23rd, it was read aloud to the Continental Army. From it come some of the most famous words in American history. It begins:

_"These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives everything its value."_

It was with fortification like this that the Americans continued the fight for freedom, and the morale boost they received after their victory was a much-needed encouragement for the tired troops. In fact, according to legend, after the city of Trenton was taken, Washington took the hand of a young officer and remarked: "This is a glorious day for our country."  
Given the fact that the story's truth is questionable at best, I like to think that - in the Hetalia-verse, at least - this young officer might have been a certain country... =D (Though that does raise another question - who in their right mind would've made America an officer? Ah well, it still makes for nice head-canon.)

Well, I think that about sums everything up. Oh, and I didn't even _think_ about this until after I finished writing, but William the soldier is in no way meant to represent William Washington, the general's cousin who was notably wounded in the battle. He really _is_ just a random soldier. In fact, the character is remnant from an old game I used to play with my little sister and one of her friends, in which we were all time-travelers from different dimensions and alternate histories. (We were weird kids, okay? =D) He was my Revolutionary War character, and I've kind of used him as a random OC for stories in that era ever since I was 11 or 12. I think his last name is actually "Jennings" if memory serves. *Random side note is random...*

I hope to have more story soon, possibly tomorrow or Monday. Your reviews, follows and faves are highly encouraging. And I mean it. Thanks everyone!

P.S. The Ghost of Christmas Present is next - anyone have any guesses about his/her identity?


	5. Chapter 5 - Joy to the World

Chapter 5 - Joy to the World

* * *

You guys are awesome, do you know that? Thank you **Lady Shadow 77** for the fave. As for reviews:  
**silverheartlugia2000** - Yeah, I've always found the revolution fascinating, from both the British and American perspectives. Don't worry - England will start catching on pretty soon.  
**Lady Shadow 77** - Oh man, France would make a great Ghost of Christmas Present! Too many good ideas...  
**Fourth in Command Cixalea Jwan** - Interesting interpretation. I actually considered changing my plot to fit this, because you're totally right on all levels - I particularly love the angle with Belarus - but I realized how much work that would be and decided to stick with the original. xD Plus, I'm rather fond of it, too. I went a different direction with Ignorance and Want though, which you'll see next chapter. A _very_ different direction...

**11pink45** - Glad you liked it. The revolution bit's pretty much over now, but I might write another story involving it sometime.  
**MysticDacora** - No, he's the Ghost of Christmas _Presents_. xD

Slight warning - some of the events in the "Present" chapters are a little out-of-order from the book, because I squished the Cratchit's party and Fred's party together to create America's. Thanks guys!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or A Christmas Carol. I do, however, own a giant batch of German christmas cookies I made this afternoon. And they are delicious.

* * *

_"I have found it out! I know what it is, Fred! I know what it is!"_

_"What is it?" cried Fred._

_"It's your Uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge!"_

_Which it certainly was. Admiration was the universal sentiment, though some objected that the reply to "Is it a bear?" ought to have been "Yes;"_

_- A Christmas Carol_

*ヘタ リア*

England sat nervously, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. The hotel room was silent, except for the quiet_ tick, tick, tick_ of the clock sitting on the desk across the room. He stared at the face, which read 1:59. The second hand inched closer and closer to the twelve. If everything was proceeding as suspected, he should be expecting another visitor right about...

_Ding!_

… now.

He looked about the room, ready to catch the spirit before it caught him, this time. But no one came.

Blast.

There was a knock at the door, and he gave a start. Could that be the spirit? He leaped from the chair and dashed to the door, slowing as he apprehensively placed a hand on the doorknob and gently turned it. He eased the door open and poked his head into the hallway.

Nothing.

He turned the other way.

Nothing.

"Bloody kids," he mumbled. "Imagine pranking someone at this hour. And on Christmas, too! The nerve of some people..." He shut the door and turned around, only to recoil in shock at the sight that met his eyes.

Where, a moment ago, his kitchen had been dark and empty, save for a few various items scattered across the counter, there was suddenly a bright, festive light. And everywhere - from the floor to the sink to the table - there were foods in every shape and size. Mostly cookies and pastries, in dozens of colors and sizes (some with intricate designs), but also a large goose, potatoes, pieces of marzipan, links of sausages, and... cabbage?

In the midst of all this, there stood another figure, glowing much as the ghosts of the ancients and Christmas Past had. He cut a striking figure, a red-and-white sweater matching his knit hat and mittens.

And his eyes. And hair.

The spirit clapped slowly.

"You found me! By the way, 'gullible' is written on the ceiling."

England groaned. "Of course, it would have to be you..."

The Prussia-spirit gave a laugh. "Was? I'm afraid we've never met, my friend. Your loss."

The ghost thought for a moment, then continued. "Well, never met until now, that is. But there's no time like the present." He flashed a brilliant smile.

"Really?" England said, studying the spirit from head to foot.

"Well, considering I represent the present... in a word? Yes." He flung out his arms. "Now, look upon me. And my awesomeness.

England sighed. "What in God's name are you wearing?"

The spirit looked down and pointed to his sweater, which England now realized was not merely red and white, but contained various knitted patterns - primarily, a bird motif.

"This?" the ghost said, pointing.

"Yes. It's hideous."

"Well it _is_ an ugly Christmas sweater. Just an awesome, magical one."

"Magical?" England scoffed.

Present smiled. "Like you'd know a magical ugly Christmas sweater when you saw it. Go on, touch it."

"Excuse me?"

"Touch it."

"That's what I was afraid you said..."

"What, are you scared?" the spirit laughed.

England punched the spirit in the stomach, surprised that as he did so, that the room began to spin in a reaction not unlike Past's hockey stick.

When his nauseous feeling subsided, he found himself on the streets of New York. A light snow was falling.

Next to him, the spirit was bent over, clutching his stomach.

"...meine Pankreas..."

"Er... sorry about that..." England muttered. "I thought you were being sarcastic..." In all honesty, he'd assumed the spirits were probably incorporeal. So much for that idea...

The spirit, however, seemed to be lost in his own little world.

"'Make your activation article a piece of clothing,' they said... 'It'll be funny,' they said'… Dummköpfe..."

"Er... was there something you wanted to show me?"

The spirit straightened himself, wincing.

"Ja. Follow me," he said, motioning down the street.

They walked about a block, passing numerous shops - most closed for the holiday evening, but some still vibrantly lit. Everything was decorated for the season. Somewhere in the distance, music was playing, but England couldn't place the tune.

Around them, there were more people out than he'd expected. They bustled about, apparently oblivious to his and the spirit's presence.

Some of them were shoppers, carrying heavy bags. The spirit would stop and look at them, pull something from a little bag at his waist, and extend his hand. Upon closer examination, England could barely discern a thin, glittering powder, which the spirit pinched into his fingers. He then gently blew in their direction, and their faces brightened, their loads seemingly lighter.

Others walked in groups, and when the spirit aimed at them they all laughed as if some joke had been told - no matter how somber or sullen their faces may have seemed beforehand.

When they came upon a child, the spirit would smile and bend down, acting as if whispering a secret in their ear. The young boy or girl would grin and look about, reveling in their surroundings. A few tossed out their arms, and one little girl, to England's amusement, spun about in a circle with her eyes shut, a look of pure joy on her face.

_Rather like a young America,_ he thought, as she raced to catch up with her parents. He supposed she _was_ one of his people.

But children and shoppers and groups of friends aside, England was most intrigued when they approached... others.

A man sitting alone in an alleyway, whom the walkers ignored without second thought, huddling under a tattered sleeping bag to stay warm.

A haggard-looking teen girl, holding a crying baby in one hand along with an empty wallet, and a paper bag from a local food bank in the other.

A young man sitting on a doorstep with his head in his hands and a small box in the other, trembling in fear.

England gave these people little thought, but as the spirit passed them, his face lit up brighter than the remaining storefront windows and he once again reached for his sack, flinging its contents at an approaching family - two parents and their child.

The young woman and her husband stopped to talk to the homeless figure, their son rushing up behind them to hand the man a wrapped box. On top was a candy cane, tied with ribbon. The child beamed unreservedly, simply enjoying the moment, and the tired man smiled. The parents exchanged proud glances, the father rezipping his backpack, where more gifts awaited.

Across the sidewalk, the baby stopped crying, and the young mother gazed at the other parents and their child. Seeing the excited little boy, she smiled. She looked down at her own, kissed him on the head, and smiled, continuing her walk with renewed energy and humming to herself.

The young man on the steps looked up, staring intently at the parents as they squeezed each other's hands and laughed. He stood up and marched to the door, knocking on it, and clutching his little box in a death grip. A girl around his own age opened the door, looking surprised. He extended his arm, opening the box to reveal a delicate ring. England heard no words, but from the woman's immediate, tackling embrace, he felt he could discern her answer.

He turned to the spirit.

"Why...?"

Present shrugged. "Everyone deserves to have an awesome Christmas. Sometimes they just need a little help"

England nodded slowly as they continued walking again.

"Was that what you meant to show me?" he asked.

The spirit laughed.

"Oh no, we're still yet to get there."  
"Then why are we taking so long? Couldn't you just...?" he trailed off and gestured quickly in the air. "... just, you know. Poof. Or something like that." He sounded ridiculous, he knew that. Ah well.

"Sure," the spirit said. "But sometimes it's worth it to take the scenic route."

"Scenic? I'd call it... messy."

"Messy?"

"You know, when things get difficult to deal with. Or when it'd be easier to just bloody stay out of something, instead of throwing yourself into the fray. Messy."

Present laughed. "The world is 'messy'. You, as a nation, should know that better than anything. But what's wrong with all that? Some people call it messy - I call it awesome!"

"Awesome...? How?!"

"Admit it, the world would be pretty boring if things didn't ever get tricky. Boringness is...well... not awesome."

"I never thought about it that way," England admitted.

"Try it sometime. But before you do that... we're here!"

The spirit dramatically flung out his arms, stopping in front of the impressive conference building before them. Most of the lights were dark, minus a band of bright windows a few stories up. England could see figures moving inside.

The ghost stared up at the building.

"Eh... I don't feel like taking the stairs," he said. "Let's - as you so excellently put it earlier - 'poof'."

"Never say that word again."

"Only if you don't."

Suddenly, everything spun, and they found themselves in a brightly lit room. There was a long table, holding foods as varied as the nations casually chatting throughout the room. England could hear a dozen conversations going on at once, barely catching snippets of each - which sounded ridiculous out of context.

"...and I don't even_ like_ fish! So wasn't real happy about..."

"Wait, when _is_ New Year's next year China?"

"...plus he totally creamed you in the Olympics, no offense..."

"Have you tried garlic? I heard it helps against vampires, maybe it'll work on Belarus."

"Guys! Honduras brought tamales!"

"...but I insisted we had to have lemons. America, your grocery stores are insane, did you know that?"

Recognizing the last voice, England turned to the spirit.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

Present shrugged.

"Not me," he said, pointing across the room. There, the _real_ Prussia was talking to Canada, Italy Veneziano, America, and Germany. England strained to hear the rest of their conversation.

"Huh?" America said. "What do you mean?"

"Actually, it is my _Bruder_ here who is insane," Germany muttered in response. "We found candied _citron_ at the first store, but he insisted that we couldn't make our lebkuchen without candied _lemons_."

Canada took a bite from a cookie he was holding, thought for a moment, and then turned to Germany.

"That's funny," he said. "I don't taste any lemon..."

"That's because we never found any!" Germany said, frustrated. "We had to go back to the first store, after visiting two others!"

"I'm telling you," Prussia insisted, "his grocery stores are part of some Christmas cookie conspiracy. For the sake of alliteration and evil."

"They sell pasta, though, right?" Italy said, sounding concerned.

"I think you can buy pasta pretty much anywhere..." Canada said.

"Good," Italy said. "Hey, Germany, we should play a game!"

Surprised by the sudden change of subject, Germany stared at the brunette.

"Was?"

"Yeah!" America said in agreement. "What kind of game?"

"How about... a drinking game?" Prussia said. "I could kick all your butts."

"How about... no," Canada said quickly. America, on the other hand, looked like he was on the verge of answering the affirmative before his brother shot it down. Canada looked at him, exasperated.

"America, we're both underage here..."

"That's a lie! I am over 200 years old!"

"And what does your I.D. say...?"

"...fine."

"You're just scared of losing..." Prussia muttered.

"~Ve! I know!" Italy said. "I'll think of something, and you have to guess what it is! But I'll only answer questions with 'sì' and 'no'!"

"... what kind of a stupid game is that?!" Prussia said.

Italy shrank back, looking scared. Germany rolled his eyes at his brother, then turned to Italy.

"No Italy, it sounds like a good game. Let me try. Are you thinking of... pasta?"

Italy's eyes widened.

"You're really good at this Germany!"

"Oh for crying out-" Prussia began, but was silenced by another look from his brother.

"Can I think of another one, per favore?" Italy pleaded. "This is fun!"

"Go ahead."

Italy screwed up his face in concentration

"~Ve! I have a _really_ good one! Guess guess guess!"

"It's not pasta again, is it?" Prussia said.

"No!" Italy smiled.

"Pasta sauce?"

"No."

"Pasta... salad?

"No."

"...um... what else is pasta related...?" Prussia said, looking to the North American brothers for help.

"Macaroni and cheese?" America suggested.

Canada slapped his forehead.

"Is that literally the only pasta-related thing you could come up with? It's practically not even pasta!"

"No," Italy said "but macaroni _is_ pasta, Canada."

Canada pointed at his brother. "Not _his_ stuff. It comes out of a box. With _cheese powder_."

Italy looked horrified for a moment, then smiled. "You still haven't guessed it!"

"Is it food-related?" Germany asked.

"No!" Italy said hastily. "Definitely not!"

"Is it an animal?" Canada asked curiously.

Italy giggled. "Sì!"

"Does it have feathers?" Prussia asked.

"No!"

"Is it bigger than your cat?" Germany said.

"Sì!"

America concentrated "Is it a dog?"

"No."

The questions started flying faster.

"Does it live in a zoo?" "No!"

"Does it live in your house?" "No! That would be scary!"

"Does it have a tail?" "No."

"Is it a fish?" "No."

"Does it live in the city?" "Sì!"

"Dude, is it Tony?" "Hahaha, No!"

"Is it... a mammal?" "Sì."

"Is it dangerous?" "Sì! Really dangerous!"

"A shark?" "No."

"Is it... disagreeable?" "Lots of times."

"A bear!" "No. What is it with you and bears, Canada?"

"Does it have a temper?" "Sì!"

"Does it live in Europe?" "Sì!"

"Does it _only_ live in Europe?"

Italy had to think about that one for a while.

"Well," he finally said. "Sì, I think, is the best answer. But it used to live all over the world!"

"Did it live in America?" the country himself asked curiously.

Italy nodded vigorously. "Sì, sì, sì! But it had to leave."

Other nations looked confused. For some reason, Italy kept laughing at all their questions. Plus, his answers were rather puzzling.

Suddenly, a look of realization dawned on Canada's face.

"Is it at this party?" "No."

"Italy," he said cautiously. "Is it England?"

"Was? Canada, are you feeling-" Prussia cracked up, then cut himself off as Italy nodded vigorously and practically fell over laughing.

Germany raised an eyebrow.

"That _was_ a pretty good one Italy. I'm impressed."

"Dude," America said. "Unfair. England is _totally_ a bear." He joined the European nation in laughter.

Canada frowned.

"Hm," he said, "I don't think that's very funny, America."

"Huh? Oh, I don't mean to make fun of him! I just wish he was here!"

"That's exactly what I meant. He should be here. I don't think you should be talking so freely about someone who was so rude to you."

"Nah, it's cool. He'll come around eventually."

Canada kept his frown.

Aside from the group, England turned to the spirit.

"Is Canada really that mad at me?"

Present shrugged.

"I mean, I guess we _are_ family, but to make Canada angry... what have I done? He almost _never_ gets angry. "

"He just cares for his family a whole lot," the ghost said. "He's sad that you don't want to be part of that, and afraid that you'll hurt America."

"Hurt?"

"Oh come _on_," Present said, gesturing back towards the group, where Prussia and America were now seeing who could make the highest tower of crackers and cheese dip, as Germany and Canada both rolled their eyes and Italy ate their building materials. "The kid is more naïve than a piece of wood - and don't ask where that simile came from because, I don't know - how easy would it be to betray his trust?"

"Betray his... trust?"

"That's what Canada's afraid of."

England, as much as he wanted to ignore it, was getting a sinking feeling. Was that really what he was doing?

* * *

A/N: Guys, have you ever had one of those days where you felt like you were living in one of your own stories (for those of you that write them)? 'Cause I just did. I had all this planned out long before today, but when it came around, I was shocked at how many parallels there were. The title carol? Yeah - my worship group played it this morning at church. And our topic for the day? "Lessons from _A Christmas Carol_" (I kid you not. xD)

We got up to act out scenes from a script one of our leaders brought, and my scene? Fred's party. (I played his wife, who's kinda represented here by Canada. Kinda.)

Oh, and I saw a guy wearing a bomber jacket with this huge American flag on the back. That was pretty random though.  
Last but not least, I wanted to focus on the international food that might be present at this party, and today my dad and I made lebkuchen - those cookies that I'd _already written_ Germany and Prussia talking about. And that whole thing about the lemons? Well, I added to the scene a bit later based on our own adventures. Let's just say I'm probably going to write a goofy one-shot as a semi-tie-in to this story, because this afternoon was cookie-crazy.

Anyway, everyone meet the Ghost of Christmas Prussia, er, Present. He may seem a tad OCC, but remember, he _is_ a slightly different character. In the same way Canada/Past was more snarky and sarcastic than the nation, Present/Prussia is slightly more... philosophical? I thought he made a good Present for a couple reasons: it's easy to write him as very happy, he seems like the sort of person who would make a dramatic entrance - complete with food - and that would teach a lesson by showing someone a party, and I have an... interesting... plan for Ignorance and Want next chapter. Plus the spirit has that one line that got stuck in my head: "Look upon me!" (Yeah, that line was actually from the book, guys. Minus, of course, the "awesomeness" bit. xD)

Translations:

Was? - What? (German)

Meine Pankreas... - My pancreas... (German)

Dummköpfe - fools (-ish. I couldn't come up with a perfect translation for this one. German)

Ja - Yes (German)

Bruder - brother (German)

lebkuchen - a kind of Christmas cookie, similar to gingerbread (German)

Sì - yes (Italian)

No - no (Italian)

per favore - please (Italian)

I don't have as deep a symbolic meaning for the song this time - just thought it might be a nice title for a gathering of countries as friends.

_He rules the world with truth and grace,_  
_And makes the nations prove_  
_The glories of His righteousness,_  
_And wonders of His love,_  
_And wonders of His love,_  
_And wonders, wonders, of His love._

Next chapter will take a little while - I have a slightly crazy week ahead. But that cookie one-shot might appear, if anyone's interested in it, since it won't take me as long as a whole new chapter. Thank you _sooo_ much for the positive feedback guys - though if you have constructive criticism, I'd appreciate that too! I shall bribe you this time: reviewers get free internet lebkuchen from Prussia/Present. =D


	6. Chapter 6 - O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

Chapter 6 - O Come, O Come Emmanuel

* * *

Hey guys! Sorry for the delay - my last weekend was eaten by math homework and an out-of-state speech tournament - but I'm back! And guess what? I'm practically on Winter Break now. *flails*  
That means I actually have my life back, which means _you_ actually get something to read. I'm still planning on finishing this in time for Christmas.  
So, once again, you are all awesome. Thanks to **Evee2Glacia**, **Evil By Choice Not By Blood**, **amichalap**, and **NicroeHeto09** for the faves! And everyone who reviewed/followed is awesome too!  
**silverheartlugia** - Poor Prussia... not really. I'm always mean to characters I love. xD  
**Fourth in Command Cixalea Jwan** - Well you get to find out now! (I hope you're not disappointed - its not exactly worth over-analysis, and definitely not historical. Heh heh...  
**Evil By Choice Not By Blood** - England just makes such a good Scrooge! (Plus, it's a British story.) Glad you like mine.  
**PossessedTypewriter** - I'm so happy you think that, because it was my goal. (Making it a little too serious for a parody, but not _too_ far removed!)  
**chukaliteluvver** - France will feature prominently in the Future chapters, and England will indeed survive. Others... might not fare so well. But that's a given with the whole "Tiny Tim" thing. I shall reveal nothing else. =D

Onto the story!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or A Christmas Carol. Or a unicorn, for that matter, while we're talking about, you know, impossibilities.

* * *

_"I have no patience with him," observed Scrooge's niece. Scrooge's niece's sisters, and all the other ladies, expressed the same opinion."Oh, I have!" said Scrooge's nephew. "I am sorry for him; I couldn't be angry with him if I tried. Who suffers by his ill whims! Himself, always. Here, he takes it into his head to dislike us, and he won't come and dine with us. What's the consequence? He don't lose much of a dinner."_

_"Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner," interrupted Scrooge's niece._  
_- A Christmas Carol_

*ヘタリア*

England was drawn from his thoughts by the spirit, who snapped in his face and pointed back at the group.

"Hey, we're not done here. Not yet, anyways."

England's attention snapped back to the little group of nations.

They remained in their circle, silent for a few moments, until Canada gave a sharp yelp and whirled around as if under attack.

"What was that for?" he said, first looking at America, but then turning his attention to a new arrival.

"You are on edge tonight, _mon chéri_..." France laughed.

"You pinched me in the butt!"

France shrugged and rolled his eyes. "And you apparently cannot take a joke, either."

Canada folded his arms and raised an eyebrow, frowning. This didn't quite have his desired effect, as France burst out laughing.

"So serious! What happened to your brother?" France said, placing an arm around America's shoulder. "It seems our _petite Canada_ is a tad out of sorts tonight."

"Aw, he's just mad 'cause England turned down our invitation for tonight," America said, brushing the older nation's hand off lazily.

France gave a slight frown. "I was wondering why Angleterre was absent," he muttered. "That was rather rude of him."

"Rude of who?" Yet another voice piped up. Japan had appeared on the other side, talking with Germany and Italy for a moment. Apparently he'd picked up on the other conversation as well.

"England," America and Canada said simultaneously.

Canada looked as if he was about to speak, but his brother beat him to it.

"I guess he must have been busy or something, because he said he couldn't come - I think he's sick, but he won't admit it."

Canada gave Japan a knowing glance, and the Asian nation nodded. He understood.

"I see. America-kun...?"

"Yeah?"

"...never mind," Japan said, pulling out his phone and typing something quickly.

America frowned. "Why is everyone acting like they're hiding something all of a sudden?"

Canada shushed the rest of the countries with a sharp look around their little circle before turning to face his brother.

"No reason. Hey, did you see that Lebanon brought some kind of kebabs?" Canada said, pointing to the long table at the other end of the room.

"No way!" America strained to follow his gaze. He turned back to his brother. "Dude, your eyesight is ridiculous. Do you know that?"

"Uh-huh," Canada nodded absentmindedly. "You should try them, they're really good."

"I'm so there!" America said, dashing off. Prussia gave the rest of the group a quick look, then longingly glanced after America, causing Germany to roll his eyes.

"Oh for - just follow him!"

Prussia flashed a smile in their direction, then took on a serious look.

"For the record, I totally know you're distracting him. But - my tastebuds defeated my curiosity," he said, also dashing off.

Canada gave Germany a sympathetic glance, then cleared his throat.

"So..."

France looked at him, a concerned expression on his face.

"_Mon chéri_ -"

Canada held up a hand. Seeing an opportunity, Japan held up his smartphone.

"I think there is little chance England-san is sick," he said, "his stock market seems to be doing fine."

"That's what I figured," Canada sighed.

"Well I suppose it's understandable..." Germany muttered.

"Understandable? Nonsense," France said, crossing his arms, "It's Christmas. They're family. _Frères_."

"What are we even talking about?!" Italy whispered loudly. France stared at him, then continued.

"He has no excuse. After the Treaty of Paris, I still visited you for Christmas, right _mon petite Canada_?"

"...until England found out and chased you out of the house..."

"Exactly," said France looking satisfied. "That is what family does."

"They break into each others' houses...?"

"Shush. The details are unimportant."

"...um...I still have absolutely no idea what we're talking about guys. "

"I suppose there is some truth to that, but you cannot deny that... well... our families, as nations, are not exactly normal. They do have a history." Germany said.

"A history? Please," said France, "You can't use that as an excuse. _Angleterre_ spent Christmas with you in 1914."

Germany looked embarrassed. "I..."

"...no offense, _Allemagne_" France added hastily.

"None taken," he replied gruffly.

"What're we talkin' 'bout?" someone mumbled from behind Germany. It was Prussia, who'd returned from the table.

"That's what I've been trying to figure out!" Italy said, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

"Nothing," Germany said quickly, "and don't talk with your mouth full."

"You were right Canada, these're really good," America mumbled, not far behind.

Canada sighed. "You know, you could do well to follow that advice too."

America swallowed, then grinned.

"Aw, c'mon. France is right, you seem awfully grumpy tonight. What's eating you?"

Canada nervously fiddled with his fingers before responding.

"America, we both know England isn't sick..."

America shrugged. "Yeah, but why does it matter. I mean, okay, he didn't come. That's cool The only person who is hurt by that is... well... himself. I mean just look at the food here! He's totally missing out, am I right?"

Canada gave a weak smile. "I guess so."

"Exactly!" America said, smiling. "Now who wants dessert?"

"You just... oh, never mind."

"Ooh, ooh, ~ve! Me! You still need to try my panettone!"

As the other nations wandered off in a group, France pulled Canada aside.

"Do not let this get to you, okay? _Angleterre_ is... difficult. He always has been. But it is Christmas - and you still have most of your family here, _non_? And friends too. He'll come around eventually."

"If you say so..."

"I do. Now come, I don't think I've seen you try the _bûche de Noël_ yet."

"I'm _full_!"

"Hmph, you didn't say that when you were little..."

"Hey, I -"

"When was it, 1750-something? You ate the whole thing!"

"Fine! I'll try it!" Canada grinned. "But only if you try my maple bars."

"Ohonhon, you have a deal!"

As France and Canada joined the retreating nations, England turned back to the spirit.

"Got anything to say for yourself?" the ghost said smugly, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

"Not to you I don't," England said, his voice catching in his throat. "Erm... spirit, may I ask you one thing?"

"Fire away."

"Is this all... recent? Or have they always felt this way about me?"  
"Some of it was spurred by your phone response, yes, but Canada's been a little upset about your treatment of America for some time. Something about calling his brother an 'insufferable git' gets on his nerves occasionally. Then there's all the times you mistaken him for America and call _him_ that..."

England's posture slumped.

"And... well... you know France isn't always pleased with you, that's no surprise, is it?"

"Actually," England said cautiously. "I was surprised by his relative lack of animosity. He seemed almost defensive."

"You have good friends," the spirit noted absentmindedly. "Japan was willing to take an appraisal of your sickness seriously. Germany knows first-hand how the past can haunt you, and tries to be forgiving. His brother... well," the Present paused to clear his throat, "his brother to a lesser degree, but he is a rather awesome fellow, isn't he?"

"Shut it."

The Prussia-spirit laughed, continuing. "Canada, though frustrated, still sees you as family - in fact, his frustration is founded in that - and he cares about you. Italy may have poked a little fun at you earlier, but I think he and America both fall safely into the 'awkwardly oblivious' category. That wasn't on purpose. And America isn't mad at you."

"I... guess I do. Have good friends, that is..." England conceded. "Well blast. That might've been nice to know before I turned down the invitation."

But suddenly, something seemed... off. The atmosphere felt more ominous.

"Spirit, what's going on?"

Suddenly, the noise of the party had been silenced and the room grew darker.

"My time's up," the spirit said, glancing slightly past England's shoulder. Something under his hat rustled.

England raised an eyebrow.

"Ow!" Present cried out. "Little devils! Think you can take me then?"

"Who are you talking to?"

"I don't think I should show you..." the spirit said.

"Who?"

"The most terrifying beings on earth! Their evil competes with my awesomeness!"

"Who on _earth_ are you talking about? Just bloody show me!"

Present took a deep breath.

"The two most sinister forces in the world - Ignorance and Want!"

The spirit ripped off his hat to reveal two fluffy yellow chicks. One chirped.

"Gilbird?" England asked, rolling his eyes.

"No! What do you mean? You should be quaking in fear! Aren't they pure terror?"

"No, actually."

The spirit narrowed his eyes. "I suppose you haven't quite learned your lesson yet. Buy _my_ work is - OW!"

One of the chicks had bitten him in the ear.

"See?! See?! That's Ignorance now! He's the worst!"

"I'm sure," England said, staring.

"Good luck with the next spirit," Present sniffed, rubbing his ear tenderly. "He's not quite as awesome as me, but he's got a lot to show you."

"Like what?"

But before the ghost could answer, he disappeared in a puff of red and white smoke. England found himself alone in the now darkened conference room.

"Well that was... odd," he said nervously.

He inhaled sharply. England had just remembered something rather important about Dickens' novel.

The next ghost definitely wasn't going to be anything like Present.

He was about to see the future - and he wasn't looking forward to it. The dark purple and black smoke swirling on the floor seemed to confirm his worries.

Next was the Ghost of Christmas-Yet-to-Come.

* * *

Duhndundun! Take your guesses on Future, folks.

This was a bit of a short chapter, more filler than story. Ah well, things get intense next chapter.

Just some quick translations:

mon chéri - my dear/darling (French)

petite Canada - little Canada (French)

Angleterre - England (French)

Frères - brothers (French)

Allemagne - Germany (French)

non - no (French)

bûche de Noël - Yule log (a type of Christmas cake) (French)

Here's the carol lyrics for this time around, from the third verse an another, optional verse (that I swear only appears in the hymn piano book I own. And online, of course):

_O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer  
Our spirits by Thine advent here;  
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night  
And death's dark shadows put to flight_

O come, Desire of nations, bind  
All peoples in one heart and mind;  
Bid envy, strife and quarrels cease;  
Fill the whole world with heaven's peace.

For once, I don't think I'll explain myself. Mwahaha. You can give me your opinions in the reviews. Speaking of reviews...

_Dear Santa/Finland,_

_For Christmas, I would like reviews, favorites, and follows. And a fully operational lightsaber._

_Sincerely,_

_chipmunk (who needs a better pen name xD)_

You're awesome, readers! I promise I shall write more tomorrow and have a chapter before Saturday.


	7. Chapter 7 - I Heard the Bells

Chapter 7 - I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

* * *

'Ello. I'm a tad late, aren't I? Many apologies. And I was hoping to get the future chapters up in time for the apocalypse... such a shame. It might've worked nicely. xD

On that note - the story's going to be getting a tad darker for the next two chapters. You have been warned! *plays scary music*

Anyway, thanks to **mrsmonkeyxx** and **shinyglaceon1234** for the faves! And my awesome reviewers are awesome.  
**silverheartlugia** - Guess what? You don't get to find out in this chapter! (I'm evil, aren't I?) I promise, his identity shall be revealed. Eventually...  
**mrsmonkeyxx** - Aw thanks! I'm glad somebody else appreciated the shirt. xD  
**Fourth in Command Cixalea Jwan** - Yes! EVIL GILBIRDS! Because awesomeness can only be fazed by equally awesome evilness.

Into the future we go... and may I just say to everyone who's been pointing out similarities between my story and Dickens' novel - yes, America has thus far represented Fred _and_ Belle. But... you missed one... _mwah ha ha_...

* * *

_The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently, approached. When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery._

_- A Christmas Carol_

*ヘタリア*

England stepped back, staring at the rising column of purple-black mist with growing apprehension. A chill filled the room, and he discovered he could suddenly see his breath.

"Who - who's there?" he shouted into the darkness.

There was no response. The mist simply snaked around the room, poking ominous tendrils into every corner of the space.

"What is this?!" England shouted. "Who are you?"

Slowly, the mist began to materialize into a pillar of black, spreading about like smoke roiling at the bottom of a witch's cauldron. The pillar developed a vaguely human shape, shadowy arms protruding from a dark, robe-like overcoat, its face obscured by a dark hood. The ghost's tattered, smoky robes floated around it, seemingly unconstrained - from the frayed hems, to a tattered winter scarf, to overlong sleeves that masked whatever "hands" so terrible a creature might posses.

"A-are you the ghost of Christmas-Yet-to-Come?" England asked. The dark figure nodded.

"And you are here to show me the future?"

The figure nodded again

"Well let's be quick about it," England said, straightening up and clenching his fists. He was nervous. Very nervous.

The ghost nodded once more and raised his arms high above his hooded head. The smoke began to swirl once again, and England felt the air temperature drop even further. Ice crystals formed on the windows of the conference room. In the corner, a wall clock began spinning outrageously quickly, until the minute hand was an invisible blur.

Through the freezing, purple-black haze, he saw shadows moving about. No longer was the conference room the Christmas scene he'd viewed before.

Events rushed past him. Before his eyes, a dozen world meetings played out - not long enough for him to understand their context, just glimpses. The passage of time was evident in seemingly insignificant ways, but ones that made a profound difference.

Japan sat quietly with papers in front of him, then a touchscreen tablet, then a device which projected his charts into mid-air, allowing him to manipulate the pictures with his hands. America retained his iconic bomber jacket, but changed the rest of his uniform at least three times. All of the outfits looked more military-oriented than anything England had seen his former charge in for some time. China took Germany's usual seat at the head of the table for a few meetings, holding up pictures of fantastic-looking vehicles whose purpose England felt he'd never decipher - until one showed a Chinese flag planted firmly on some distant, alien surface and the Asian nation beamed.

Despite these simple shifts, the overall interactions seemed the same as always. Italy burst out laughing, giving a mortified looking Germany a hug. Sealand randomly appeared at a meeting, but was driven out by a slightly more aggressive-looking Canada. Australia brought a kangaroo into a meeting, only to have South Africa chase it out - in much the same manner as Sealand had been removed.

Then everything... changed.

The brief vignettes took a darker tone, matched by a growing fog visible from the conference room's windows. Nations shuffled into the room with what seemed to be growing apprehension.

A frantic South Korea flagged down Vietnam, deluging her with rapid questions. A tired-looking America entered the room, only to be pulled aside by China. He handed the North American nation a fat folder, giving a disapproving look. America opened it, pulled out a long list, and sighed, shaking his head. He looked embarrassed. China, however, crossed his arms and berated the younger nation, leaving England wondering what the teen's offense might be. Germany pushed a nervous Italy aside, narrowing his eyes in concentration. The brunette started crying as the blonde rubbed the dark circles under his eyes and gazed even more intently at the tablet in his hand.

And suddenly... no one. The room was empty. No more meetings. No more nations. The atmosphere outside grew darker still, and the clock slowed to a more normal _tick tick tick_.

All was still, but for the clock.

And the silence was getting to him.

"What... happened?" he asked, turning to the spirit, who'd stood behind him the entire time.

The spirit solemnly pointed towards a stack of papers sitting forlornly at the end of the table. Abandoned.

As England walked over and examined them, attempting to make out what was written in America's messy scrawl, his heart sunk to the pit of his stomach.

"Th-these are military papers. Movements of troops. Records of... casualties. Both soldier and..." he gulped "...and civilian."

The spirit nodded.

"But where _are_ they all? Even if there's... there's a major war going on... where is America?"

The spirit turned, pointing to a nearby window. Through its shattered glass, a cold breeze wafted in. Almost as if afraid to enter the oppressive silence.

"What is it? Are they outside?"

The spirit merely continued to point.

England cautiously walked to the window, peering outside with a growing feeling of dread. As he stared upon the view below, his fears continued to mount.

The city was empty. Not a person could be seen, just dirty grey snow blowing forlornly through the streets. Streets he had walked only about an hour ago with the Ghost of Christmas Present. All signs of the vibrant Christmas scenes he's seen before were gone, their places stolen by the oppressive mix of grey and white, still lazily wafting from the sky in terrifying silence.

The buildings themselves fared no better. Black powder left horrible jagged scars on the sides of shops and apartments alike. Rubble lined the streets, the jagged tops of smaller buildings revealing its source.

But still nothing stirred. The city that never slept had fallen into a deep, deep slumber.

"Spirit, what happened? Show me America, Canada, anyone! Show me the other nations! Are they alright?"

England felt the room growing colder still as the spirit spread outstretched arms high in the air. The dark mist was no longer content to roil about the hem of the spirit's robe, but expanded once again. His vision faded from purple to black to white, ending on a brightness that was painful to his eyes.

As it faded, he could barely make out two silhouettes, in what appeared to be a hospital room of some kind.

Not just silhouettes, he realized with ever-growing dread, but friends.

They sat on a bed, the older nation's arm wrapped around the younger. As the picture came into focus, he heard comforting words from the taller - in contrast to the other's hiccuping sobs.

"Calm down, calm down. You are doing no one any good. Just relax - you will need a cool head in these coming days, non?"

He received no response.

England blanched. He would not have recognized them were it not for the voice, but the two before him were France and Canada.

Their appearances has changed drastically. France looked older and more world-weary than England had thought he'd ever see him. He wore his blonde hair, now streaked with several strands of a worrying grey, back, tied up in a short ponytail. He wore a military uniform strikingly different from his WWII one, a mix of grey and... more grey.

_Little chance of snipers picking him off so easily now..._ England mused.

France tucked a strand of Canada's hair, which the teen wore longer than England remembered, behind his ear, revealing that the boy wore a thick, white bandage across nearly half his face. It obscured his features, but at the same time spoke of serious injuries - burns likely, from the position and thickness - that England was glad he couldn't see.

"Is he okay?" England asked, turning to face the ghost. He received his answer in the form of a nurse who opened the door to the room, a clipboard in her hand.

"Well, you look like you're doing much better!" she said, her voice so ridiculously strained to be cheerful, it was almost painful.

France looked her in the eyes, concern evident. She returned his glance with a brief shake of her head, so quick England might've missed it if he'd so much as blinked. France hung his head in response, but straightened after a look in Canada's direction.

"Let me see how your arm is doing," the nurse said, resuming her bright tone. She walked over to Canada, unhooked a sling from his shoulder and started unwrapping a large white bandage on his left arm. He couldn't see the extent of whatever injury might be requiring this treatment, but he could see France bite his lip as he looked away.

The nurse, however, remained as cheerful as she could.

"Well, it looks like its healing after all! Once these burns subside, we can get around to the plaster cast, and you should regain full use of your hand fairly quickly."

Canada glared at said hand intently, as if deep in thought, then looked back up at her.

"Do... do you know if my..." he trailed off.

"Your what, honey?" the nurse asked.

Canada blushed slightly, embarrassed. "If my brother will regain use too? I know you were worried he might be... um... paralyzed, but..."

The nurse looked nervously at France, who held his arms in the air for the universal gesture of _"I don't know how to approach this."_ The nurse sighed and turned back to Canada as she re-wrapped his bandage.

"Honey, we're not sure about your brother."

"Not sure if he'll be able to walk or anything?"

"Not sure if he'll make it."

Canada stood up abruptly, stiff.

"I thought you said he was finally stabilizing! That you'd pulled him out of his coma!"

The nurse, who now looked near frantic, motioned to France as if to say _"help me here"._ She urged for Canada to sit down, nervously glancing at various monitors to the side of his bed, and the European nation pulled the teen back on to the bed, wrapping his arm around him once again.

"W-we did, but his condition began to once again worsen drastically after about 8 o'clock. It was as if his own body started attacking him.

"You were asleep by then," France explained. "I went in to talk with him." He turned to the nurse. "Could you give us some time alone?"

She nodded, leaving the room,

"I'm sorry," she said as she shut the door.

As soon as the soft click of the door closing was heard, Canada once again burst into tears.

"Sh-sh-sh... calm down, mon chéri. Let me speak."

Canada sniffled a few times, then looked up at France.

"What d-did he say?"

"Not much. I think it pained him. But I explicitly remember his telling me that - and I quote - 'Canada'd better not get upset about all this. I still need him to kick butt for me'."

Canada gave a choked giggle, half-sob half-laugh.

"She's right you know," he muttered thoughtfully.

"About what, mon chéri?"

"The whole 'attacking from the inside' thing. That's why it's so bad for him and... not for me. I just get the ash fallout."

"Ash fallout?" England said turning to the ghost. The spirit merely pointed back at the two nations.

"Not so... Canada, you are going to hurt yourself worrying about him like this! Look at you! You are in worse shape than I've ever seen you!"

"At least I'm not mostly paralyzed and dying."

France sat in awkward silence, until Canada sighed.

"I suppose you're right," he mumbled, "I'm sorry. I just... I just wish I could see him."

"I am afraid that is probably impossible. The only reason they let me in is that we are still operating under the pretense that I am you boys' father."

"Thank goodness for a slight family resemblance..." Canada muttered.

"More like the fact that no one is bothering to check ID in a time like this, non?"

Canada awkwardly picked at the bandage on his arm, silent.

"Your people are all doing their best, given the circumstances. The sheer number of refugee camps, all across the country... know that you are helping him immensely. He may still have a chance."

"A chance."

"A chance is better than nothing."

There was a sudden knock at the door. Both nations straightened simultaneously, Canada instantly slouching over again with a pained expression. France, however, got up and opened the door.

Germany and Italy stood behind it, both looking very concerned indeed.  
"We came as soon as we heard," Gernany said gruffly.

"It was kinda hard to get here though..." Italy said."War is bad for travel, but volcanoes are even worse. That's what Iceland told me, anyway... So both at the same time is really _really_ bad."

England stiffened. Volcanoes? It wasn't much to go on, but at least he had a clue now. Not that it made any sense

France nodded solemnly, opening the door wider.

"I'm surprised they let you two come in and see them," he said as the other European nations stepped in.

"We claimed to be cousins," Germany said solemnly. "Which somehow resulted in Italy's faking a Canadian accent. Badly,"

"Hey, I thought it was pretty good, eh?"

Canada snorted, looking up, and Germany groaned.

"Never say that word again." He turned his attention to Canada. "You appear to be doing alright, all things considering. Do you feel okay?"

"Mostly," Canada mumbled, though England couldn't tell if he was lying or not.

"Should we go see America then?" Italy asked.

France, Germany, and Canada fell silent.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong," Germany finally said, cautiously, "but I assume that, given the source of the damage, America is not in the same condition as his brother?"

France hung his head and Canada looked off into the distance.

"No," the European nation said, "No, America is... not doing very well."

Italy looked distraught, but Germany bit his lip.

"Is it a bad thing then..." he said, again very carefully, "...that my bruder went to his room first?"

"Prussia's here too?" Canada asked.

"Ja."

France looked thoughtful. "Non, I do not think that would be a problem. I think his chances of finding the boy awake in the first place are slim."

"D'you think he'll be coming over here then?" Canada asked hopefully.

As if on cue, the albino nation burst through the door, sending Italy scurrying across the room towards Canada.

"What's wrong with America?" he shouted, nervous. "I haven't seen him this bad... well... ever. And you're talking to someone who's stabbed the kid with a bayonet!"

Germany looked horrified.

"American Revolution," Prussia shrugged. "He wouldn't listen. Though on second thought, maybe I should've tried giving my directions in English, not German.."

"How can you...? Never mind," Germany said. "What is wrong with Amerika?"

France sighed. "It's partially the effects of the eruption, which is actually worsening. We believe the bomb also triggered some of the earthquakes occurring across the American west as we speak. But worst of all is the fact that the Imperial forces are still attacking."

"Still..." Germany trailed off, speechless.

"They sacked New York, Boston, and, DC - along with many other cities on the eastern seaboard that should have been relatively protected from everything but the ash." Canada said bitterly.

Italy gasped. "Poor America!"

"Wait wait wait," Prussia said, sounding skeptical. "I thought a disaster zone truce had been declared! I know for a fact Japan convinced China to help with the relief in California, and I'm pretty sure Spain was helping out too."

"Not everyone's agreed to the truce," France said solemnly. "Guess who, in particular."

Prussia stiffened. "The monster already created the weapon that caused all this! Do you mean to tell me he's still attacking?"

"If the ashes of Philadelphia are anything to go by... yes," Canada said angrily.

The nations sat in stoic silence.

"We're dead, aren't we?" mumbled Prussia.

"We'll, if South Korea and Japan can complete their negotiations with China, we may still have a shot. After all, he's been the most benevolent to New Allied nations of all the Imperial ones. I think China even tried to talk to... him." France said

Germany raised an eyebrow. "And what did he say?"

"Well.. I'm not sure they actually got the _chance_ to talk," said France.

The nations fell silent again, and England turned to the ghost.

"Let me get this straight," he said. "Some sort of World War Three has broken out?"

The ghost nodded.

"Between Imperial nations and... the New Allies?"

Another nod.

"And an Imperial nation created a weapon that triggered natural disasters _all across America_?"

Yet another solemn nod.

"And their army is now... taking advantage of this?"

Nod nod nod.

"That's despicable!" England spat. "What nation would _do_ that?"

The ghost pointed at him.

"What do _I_ have to do with this? _I_ don't know abut the politics of this world, that's why I'm asking _you_."

Shaking his head, the spirit raised his arms again. The room around them slowly started to spin with purple-black mist, and the spirit pointed slightly over England's shoulder. He turned around, only to see another scene materializing before them.

Japan stood in the middle of a rocky plain, a thick covering of grey dust coating everything in sight - even the nation himself. Other grey-dusted figures moved around in the background, people and dogs hunting through the rocks - which England realized, his heart plummeting to his stomach, were actually more rubble.

Suddenly, another figure bounded up behind Japan.

"There's a building over there with like twelve people in it, and they think they can rescue them all! Isn't that great?"

Japan turned around to face the grey-dusted person, his finger pressed to his lips. He was talking into some sort of headset.

"No, I don't know if America-kun is alright. I haven't heard back from France yet. But thank you for your concern."

The other figure nodded in recognition wiped a layer of grime from his face, revealing himself to be South Korea.

"Are you talking to Aniki?" he whispered loudly.

Japan nodded, then continued speaking. "What would help the most, actually, would be if you could call off the attacks across the Eastern Seaboard."

"Yes, I am aware you have nothing to do with them."

"No, I didn't... look, he is your ally. Is it not a reasonable assumption that-"

"I was not aware of that. I apologize. Could you at least connect me to a call with him? I have to try."

England noticed the mist behind them beginning to swirl again. Before he was fully aware of the shift, he and the spirit were in another room.

"I can try, but I doubt it will achieve anything..." China muttered into a small microphone on his desk. They were in the Asian nation's office.

"Do you mean to tell me China did this?" England asked the spirit. "They made it sound as if he were a friend!"

The spirit shook his head, pointing again.

"Give me one second, Hǎo ma?" China said, pressing a button on his desk. He looked almost afraid.

"Wéi?" China asked nervously into the speaker.

A muffled reply could be heard, from some sort of earpiece England had not noticed.

"Yes, Japan would like to speak with you, aru. May I transfer the call over to him?"

"What do you mean 'Where is he' ? Where do you think?! His ally was just attacked - by you, might I add - he's helping with the relief effort."  
"Don't laugh like that, it's disturbing, aru. Yes, disturbing. And after such a drastic move on your part, I'd be on your toes. Spain says he wants to break ties with you, and I'm wondering if he's correct."

There was a long winded reply on the other side, which England took advantage of.

"Spirit, who is China talking to? I must know. Who would_ do_ something like that? Something so terrible that everyone is afraid of him... so unfeeling. He's killing America! I want to know who it is - mostly so I can try to rip their bloody head off."

The spirit pointed at him again.

"Are you saying I know who it is? You're not making any sense! Just speak to me - no, better yet, show me!"

The mist began to swirl once more, and England suddenly found himself looking at a very familiar room. Sure, the map on the wall looked different - colored red and blue for the war's opposing sides, and the technology had modernized a bit, but other than that...

His breath caught in his throat as he heard his own voice behind him. He whirled around, just in time to see his future self speak.

"_China_, I'm surprised at you. We're _this_ close to succeeding and now you're _scared_? Yes, the bomb was rather destructive, but it was necessary. The boy was merely an obstacle. And a rather annoying one at that. And now...?" the England from the future looked up and smiled evilly. "Well, now we're free to destroy the rest of them."

* * *

Duhn-dun-dun... so dramatic. Yes, I'll admit this chapter is a tad over the top. But hey - its one of the best ways to make a point.

I also understand it's rather cryptic. Don't worry, I'll be happy to explain. Later. Mostly in the next chapter. In the meantime, theories of craziness are welcome abound in the reviews. (What specifically was targeted in the attack? Who's the ghost? What are some of the alliances? And... where's Perry? - Okay, I couldn't help myself. xD)

The Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come is my favorite of the spirits. When I was in middle school, we performed the play, and I got be the gigantic ghost's puppeteer. It was so fun! Plus, I might possibly have made it disco-dance backstage...

Translations:

non - no (French)

mon chéri - darling (French)

bruder - brother (German)

ja - yes (German)

Hǎo ma - okay? (Chinese)

Wéi? - Hello? (on the telephone, that is - Chinese)

The carol for this chapter is one of my favorites. It actually spreads a lovely message of peace. But! - It has some verses that say otherwise out of context, and so I shall manipulate them for my semi-evil purposes.

"I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" was actually a poem, written during the American Civil War. In fact, one lesser known verse states:

_Then from each black, accursed mouth_

_The cannon thundered in the South,_

_And with the sound_

_The carols drowned_

_Of peace on earth, good-will to men!_

How... Christmas-ish... right? o_0 (By the way... this song is free domain. DO I HEAR A SONG-FIC CALLING?)

But anyway, the following verses gave the chapter its title:

_It was as if an earthquake rent_

_The hearth-stones of a continent,_

_And made forlorn_

_The households born_

_Of peace on earth, good-will to men!_

_And in despair I bowed my head;_

_"There is no peace on earth," I said;_

_"For hate is strong,_

_And mocks the song_

_Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"_

You are all awesome readers. Thanks guys!


	8. Chapter 8 - Night of Silence

Chapter 8 - Night of Silence

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Hey awesome readers! I hope you all know that you make my day. Seriously, I do this weird maniacal giggle when I'm really happy, and as I read over your reviews in my bedroom, my mom checked in on me because I was "concerning her". xD

Thanks to **MapleRevival**, **RinlzerIsTron123**, **iAppleGreen**, and **Clockwork Pheonix** for the faves!

I'm starting to get a LOT of reviews and I'm rather pressed for time today, so may I just give one collective "YOU ALL ROCK!" to my reviewers, and say that you actually made me cry tears of joy. And maniacally giggle. Seriously, you are soooo encouraging, it's ridiculous. THANK YOU! (Although, I would like to give a slight shout out to **Jami-bunny** for being creepy and totally reading my mind, Everything you said is true. Are you spying on me? 0_o...)

Okay, storytime!

Disclaimer: I do not own _Hetalia, or A Christmas Carol_.

* * *

"..._But however and whenever we part from one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim—shall we—or this first parting that there was among us?" _

_- A Christmas Carol_

*ヘタリア*

England felt himself sink to the floor, though he wasn't entirely aware of the action. Instead, he merely kneeled on the floor of the office - _his own office_ - in shock.

"Spirit, please," he begged whirling around, "please, I don't understand! Why? Why is this... this all happening?"

The spirit merely raised his arms again, and they soon found themselves outside a dull, grey building in the gently falling greyish snow.

"Why?" England pleaded again, shivering. He was unable to escape the chill that seemed to cling to the dark figure.

To his surprise, the spirit reached up and pulled back his hood slightly, revealing greyish white hair and violet eyes. He gave England a knowing - and yet disturbing - smile.

"I am assuming you want some answers, да?"

"What...? I don't... you..." England clenched his fists. "You mean you've been able to speak this entire time?!"

"Да. But it was more fun this way, wasn't it?"

"Actually, there's been nothing 'fun' about this whole encounter."

The spirit, suddenly less serious, began twirling his scarf. "Really? That's sad. I had a lot of fun."

"You...? I... you know, I'm not going to comment on that. Instead I think I'll ask you WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?!"

The Russia-spirit laughed. "That is a very good question!"

They stood there, staring at each other.

"Well...?" England prompted. The spirit looked confused.

"'Well' what?"

"Aren't you going to explain?"

"Oh! You didn't ask me yet..."

"Yes I did, you idiot!"

"No, you said you _thought_ you'd ask me. But you didn't. A simple mistake," the ghost said, continuing to smile.

England slapped his forehead. "Oh for heaven's... I'll start simply. Can you tell me more about... whatever war is going on?"

"The war? Да. As you have gathered, there are two major sides."

"The... Imperial? And New Allies?"

The spirit nodded. "The conflict began through a complicated stalemate between superpowers, namely the United States and China. Sides were taken and... well, I think you can figure out the rest." He smiled.

Despite the slightly vague explanation, England felt he could indeed fill in the blanks. He had seen enough wars in his time.

"I... I think so. So I'm assuming the Imperial powers are the ones allied with China? Including... myself?" As if that..._ monster_... could truly be him. England shuddered at the thought.

"Да. And they have been the winning side since the fighting began."

"Who exactly might that be?"

"China, Spain, the United Kingdom, Russia, and North Korea. The major Allies, of course, are the nations you saw yourself - France, Canada, Germany, Italy, Japan, and the..." he grinned yet again, "...and the now _former_ United States."

"Th-that seems like a fairly random arrangement..." England stammered.

"Yes, well, as you said before, you have little knowledge of the politics of 2071, да?"

"I-is that what year it is?"

The spirit nodded.

"Spirit..." England said slowly, "I almost hate to ask, but, how... how is it possible..."

"Possible that America was taken down like that?"

"Y-yes. I mean, he may not be the brightest, but there's something to be said for power. You say the Imperial forces were winning even before... before the attack?" "

This is not the America you know, is it? Decades of declining power, superstorms, and growing debt have... taken their toll, shall we say?"

England gulped and nodded. Morbid as it felt to him, his curiosity was piqued. "What exactly... was... the attack everyone keeps speaking of?"

"I was wondering when you'd ask!" the ghost said, still smiling. "Think of something very big and dangerous, да?"

"Big and dangerous... all I can think of is, well, _natural_. Not triggered by an enemy attack."

"Something big and dangerous. America is very proud of it today. But he should be more careful," the spirit said, shaking his finger in a cautionary manner. England shut his eyes in concentration.

The spirit wasn't making any sense. "Italy said something about a volcano..." he muttered aloud.

_Big...dangerous...proud...volcano_... England paled. "It's not that bloody national park is it?"

"Yellowstone?" the spirit asked. "Да. A desirable target for multiple reasons - not the least of which was the relative proximity to the Canadian border. A chance to take out another enemy. But you weren't as successful there. The wind was on the northern brother's side. Most of the ash blew east, meaning America's coastal cities were that much easier for you to destroy. Not to mention it mixed with the snow, creating those deadly blizzards..."

"Stop it!" England said. "Just stop!"

"Stop what?" the spirit said, grinning even wider.

"Stop saying 'you'! I never did any of this! It's despicable!"

"Oh, but you _will_, Англия. That's the point."

"I-I... how _dare_ you! I would never! None of this... none of this is even realistic! What proof is there that this could even occur? None! That's how much!"

"Нет, it has already begun. Did Present not show you the Christmas party?"

"Yes, he did, but... what does that have to do with anything?"

"Think about who you saw there."

"Well, America, obviously. And he was... he was talking with..." England felt himself pale. He suddenly felt slightly faint. "...he was talking with France... Canada... Germany and his brother... Italy...and Japan. Blast."

"The New Allies," the spirit confirmed.

"But..." England hung his head. He was at a loss for words. "Spirit... this world... is it honestly what I... what we all will become? I thought perhaps we could avoid another World War. My... my own actions aside, this is... well, it's nothing short of horrible. Is there no light left in this world?"

The spirit gave a sad smile. "Да. A little. But for how long... well, that is a question I cannot answer."

"Show it to me, please. Otherwise... otherwise... all this... I just _can't_."

The spirit nodded, pulling his hood low over his face again. He raised his arms over his head, and his misty robes began to swirl once again.

"I assumed so," he said. "That is why I brought you here."

England caught a brief glimpse of violet in the shadows that obscured the ghost's face, but soon, the figure had resumed his previous, ominous manner, white scarf flapping forlornly in the wind.

"Here?" England asked, looking at the building. "What is...?" The spirit, silent once again, pointed at the door, wrapped in tendrils of purple and black mist. It swung open, slowly.

"Spirit? Please, what awaits me there?"

But he'd fallen silent once again.

"Spirit! Tell me!"

The door clacked gently in the snow, a gentle wind pushing it against the dull grey exterior. The spirit's hand remained extended, pointing solemnly.

"Spirit..." England sighed, and began to walk towards the door. The ghost trailed slowly after him, like a fog rolling in over the snow.

As he pushed the door gently aside, England felt himself sharply inhale. He could easily figure out where the spirit had brought him. They'd gone full circle.

"A-are we in the hospital again?" England asked. The spirit nodded, then pointed across the room.

A lonely row of chairs stood at one end, all but abandoned but for a lone figure sitting sadly in the corner. He looked about him, staring at a clock on the wall, then towards the door to the hospital area, then back at the clock. But his attention was drawn back to the door as it burst open.

"~Ve! JapanJapanJapan! You're back!"

The small Asian nation stood up, glancing nervously around, then turning back to Italy. Behind him, Germany shuffled in quietly, followed by France, Canada, and an uncharacteristically silent Prussia.

"Y-yes," said Japan, looking towards his friends. "I-it is good to see you all."

"Any progress in the relief efforts?" Germany asked gruffly.

"A little, maybe," said Japan. "How is America-kun doing?"

Suddenly, Italy burst into tears. France put an arm around him, then put his other around Canada - whose eyes were welling up and who was biting his lip."

"A-Amerika..." Germany said slowly, "Amerika is..." he trailed off.

Japan hung his head. "I-I did not realize," he said, blushing.

"We went in to visit him... just before... before..." Prussia snapped to attention. "He said he wanted us to give you his thanks."

"His thanks...?"

Germany cleared his throat. "He said something about 'your friendship, the help you've given his people in times if disaster, the occasional scary movie, and some slaps of perspective when he needed them.'"

"I-I don't know what to-"

"-And then he started talking about Godzilla movies and anime and it all went downhill from there..."

"Th-that sounds more like America-kun."

"Indeed."

The nations stood in silence for a few moments, minus, of course, the sound of Italy's sniffling. Suddenly, France spoke up.

"Do you have any news, Japan?"

"News? Not really... I did try to talk with England-san, though I suppose even then it might have been too late."

"And what did he have to say for himself?" France said, contempt positively dripping from his voice. Given its cold nature, it seemed like icicles should be hanging from the words themselves.

"Nothing really. I simply tried to talk about the east coast attacks, but he'd have none of it."

"You mean he denied them?!"

"Oh, no, he fully owned up to them. But he wasn't exactly... open to discussion."

"Why? What'd he say?"

"I believe he told me to 'sod off', and if I 'wanted to be helpful, run along and ask Italy how Mt. Etna's doing...'"

Italy, who had just begin to calm down, started wailing again.

"Waaaah! Germany, help me! I don't want to die! Help me, Germany! Big Brother France, tell Germany he needs to save me! I have family in-"

"Shut up!" Germany said, extricating himself from the Italian's grip.

"No one else is going to die! Got it?"

Canada sniffled, giving Italy a hug with his good arm. Both nations were making a valiant effort to shut down their tear ducts, for the time being.

Germany looked sheepish. "I apologize. We all... we all must try to keep the stress from getting to us."

Everyone nodded in agreement. "We... we will move on from here. Already our support from China is growing, he may be able to convince England to destroy his superweapons. And without those, the field will become closer to even."

France gave skeptical "hmph", but continued to listen nonetheless. Canada, who'd been sadly quiet the whole time, finally spoke up.

"T-the most important thing to remember is that we're allies, eh? We're not alone. As long as we work together, I don't think anyone can say we failed. A-and we won't forget anyone. Ever. Even if...", he sniffed, "if they fall."

Japan nodded. "That is very wise. America-kun would agree, I think. Your brother would be proud of you."

Canada blushed, sniffling.

"Well then," Prussia said, holding his fist up in the air, "to being allies - even if we fail, we're still way more awesome than the others!"

"To being allies!" Italy said, joining him. France, Canada, Germany, and Japan looked at each other, shrugged, and smiled.

"To being allies!"

Across the room, from his place in the corner where he'd been observing all this, England turned to the spirit, incredulous.

"How can they be so... calm? Collected? Cheerful given the circumstances? Unfazed?"

The spirit remained silent.

"Spirit! Explain! They're losing! They're in trouble! How... how are they not panicking?"

The spirit pointed slowly at each of the nations gathered in the waiting room.

"...Each other? But..." he trailed off. "I suppose I'm not really one to talk about such things. I wouldn't know about... about the support if friends, would I?"

The spirit remained still and silent.

"But... I have a chance, right?" a horrible thought crept into his head. "Spirit, this may have already been set in motion, but... it can be changed right?"

Nothing.

"Spirit! I am not too far gone, am I? Spirit!" England fell to his knees. "Just tell me! Spirit! T-the future can always be changed, can't it?"

The purple and black mist began to roil about once more.

"No! No, don't leave me! I must know - are these merely shadows of things to come, or is this terrible future set in stone?"

The spirit turned its head, the dark hood lifting slightly. England once again saw a slight glint of violet.

"That is up to you, да?" he said.

The shadowy mist billowed higher and higher, until England's entire view turned to dark purple. Slowly, he thought he could feel consciousness slipping from his grasp. And then all was quiet.

* * *

Only one chapter to go! I might actually get it up later today, but I've got some Christmas Eve prep with my family. (Read: Pizza making! Even though no one in my family is Italian... hahaha. Our cheese choices are very multicultural though - cheddar, Jarlesburg, Romano... Yes, Romano. xD)

So the ghost is revealed! And he _speaks_! A tad contrary to Dickens, I know, but it worked for my purposes. Oh Russia...

Translations:

Да - (_da_) Yes (Russian)

Англия - (_Angliya_) England (Russian)

Нет - (_nyet_) no (Russian)

This chapter's carol is a little different. "Night of Silence" is actually a companion song to "Silent Night" (I see what they did there... =D), written to be sung at the same time. And is it ever _gorgeous_. Seriously. Go listen to it. Right now. Try YouTube.

Anyway, I used the first verse for my inspiration:

_Cold are the people, Winter of life, We tremble in shadows this cold endless night, Frozen in the snow lie roses sleeping, Flowers that will echo the sunrise, Fire of hope is our only warmth, Weary, its flame will be dying soon._

Kinda sad, huh? Don't worry. England's about to learn his lesson, so I'll give you the second verse too, with its message of hope. =D

_Voice in the distance, call in the night, On wind you enfold us you speak of the light, Gentle on the ear you whisper softly, Rumors of a dawn so embracing, Breathless love awaits darkened souls, Soon will we know of the morning._

Thanks for reading, everyone! The story will be concluded as soon as possible, either tonight or tomorrow. Reviews, etc. are still very much appreciated. =)

P.S. I wrote a bunch of this on my iPod, so if there are any big mistakes, I apologize. It kept autocorrecting "Prussia" to "Russia", so I'm suspicious. xD


	9. Chapter 9 - God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

Chapter 9 - God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

* * *

Here we have it, everyone. The final chapter! No new faves this time around, but a couple more reviews, so thank you all!

**Fourth in Command Cixalea Jwan **- Thank you! I'm happy to present you with this last chapter. **silverheartlugia2000 **- Yup, A lot of the dialogue is straight from the book (modified only slightly). It just works so perfectly! =D

**Nortstar** - Awesome! I thought my suspense wasn't that great, so I really appreciate your saying that!

**11pink45** - I see someone's reading critically... good for you! I'm pretty nit-picky myself, so the same things bothered me, but I did some research, and there are a few scientists who actually think a nuclear bomb could trigger earthquakes, if dropped on a fault line, so I ran with the idea. Plus, I think more powerful weapons could be invented in the next 50 years, don't you? Anyway, if that answer isn't satisfying enough for you, here's my fallback: Magic! This is England we're talking about... maybe he summoned a dragon or something. Y'know, a volcano dragon... xD

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or A Christmas Carol, but I do find them surprisingly compatible...

* * *

"_Why bless my soul!" cried Fred, "who's that?"_

"_It's I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in, Fred?"_

_Let him in! It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off._

_- A Christmas Carol_

*ヘタリア*

England awoke to a sharp rap at the door and an accompanying mocking voice.

"You better not still be asleep, Jerk England, or I'll bust down this door!"

_Wait... the door?_

He sprung up, hitting his head in the corner of the desk.

_Desk_?

It was the desk next to his bed - in the hotel room! He was back! The sheer joy of this revelation was enough to counteract the pain of having the corner of the wooden table jab him only slightly above his neck. Well, almost.

"Ow! Bloody table!"

England turned to the door, and shouted "I'm coming, I'm coming!", rubbing the back of his head and dashing to the front of the room. He opened the door, revealing a bored-looking Sealand.

"I'm only here because Wy's big brother insisted I make sure you're still alive or something. I guess he - oof! What was that... someone save me! England's gone mad! Help!"

What had really happened was that the micronation was pulled into a massive hug. He squirmed, looking disgusted.

"Have you gone mental? What in the world was-"

"Sealand," England asked, "Sealand what day is it?"

Sealand stared in horror. "You _have_ gone mad!"

"What do you..."

"It's Christmas!"

"Christmas Day?" he grinned, dropping Sealand. "Yes! I haven't missed it! Of course I haven't, the spirits played it all by the book! Such a wonderful book. I really wish I could thank them all - and Dickens too!"

Sealand brushed himself off. "What are blathering on about _now_?"

"Is America still holding a Christmas breakfast?"

"How should _I _know?" the micronation mumbled. "_I _never get invited to these things."

"Of course he is," England mumbled to himself. "I'll just need to get over there... I'm not late yet."

He turned to Sealand. "Thank you, my boy, you've been very helpful." He rubbed his head, then dashed back into his room shouting "Happy Christmas!"

Sealand would spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what happened to "Jerk England".

England, however was much too rushed to realize this, especially considering the elation at waking from his journey with the spirits hadn't quite worn off. After he shut the door, he rushed to get dressed, wondering all the while how he might best approach his arrival.

"Presents," he decided, "I should definitely bring everyone presents. That means I'll have to find an open store... hm... that could be slightly problematic. Maybe Finland could help me..."

One thing, however, he felt he knew for sure. Grabbing both this special present and his coat, the nation raced out the door and onto the street below, still fighting with his gloves.

"Bloody woolen fingers, can't fit 'em in the right spots... ah, there!" Glancing at his watch, he realized he wasn't going to make it on time. It was 8:40, and if memory served, the festivities were starting at nine.

"Blast. Well, better late than never, I suppose," he muttered, setting off down the street of shops again.

He took a deep breath, reveling in the refreshing, chilling winter air. A couple lone snowflakes lazily drifted from the sky, almost reluctantly. Despite the freezing weather, he couldn't help but feel ridiculously warm inside - it was Christmas, and he was going to make everything better. SUrely this could all be patched up! Britannia and Rome wouldn't have set it all up for his if it couldn't.

"And if old Scrooge can change his ways," he said to himself cheerfully, "surely _I_ can as well."

By nine o'clock he had finished his rushed Christmas shopping, meaning that it was time to head over to America's apartment. If he couldn't make the Christmas Eve party, he might as well try to make... well, Christmas.

When he arrived, he could hear laughter coming from behind the closed door. He tugged on the strap of his shopping bag, making sure all the contents were well-concealed, then took a deep breath and knocked.

Inside, the noise suddenly stopped. England glanced nervously at his watch - 9:15. He wasn't _that_ late, was he?

From the apartment room he could hear whispers.

"Wait, who's that?"

"Isn't everyone here?"

"Don't worry, I'll get it."

The door slowly creaked open, to reveal a smiling Canada. But his face turned to confusion upon seeing who waited behind it.

"England? What are you doing-" The northern nation was practically flattened as his brother ran up behind him.

"England! You came! I knew it! See, I told you guys, he would come," America said, beaming. He then proceeded to "hug" England in a manner that actually resembled "tackling" more than affection. But the meaning was understood.

"-Oof. Happy Christmas, America," England said. He bent over, winded.

"Dude, now I _can_ give you your present! I was going to come to your place later, but now I don't have to!"

Soon, the other nations present at the gathering - a smaller group than last night, but nonetheless enough to make the apartment rather crowded - began to gather round as well. As America dashed over to his tree to grab what he had dubbed "the best present ever, I promise", England found himself practically surrounded by other nations happy to see him.

It was a nice feeling. Sort of unexpected, but nice.

"So, Angleterre, you decided to show up, did you? Good choice!"

"~Ve! Did you bring food?"

"NO! Don't ask _him_ that! No offense, Yīngguó."

Only Canada remained slightly off to the side. England pushed through the rest of the nations to his former charge.

"Canada?" he asked.

The younger nation looked up at him. "Why did you come? I thought you were mad at all of us."

"I was. But let's just say I... had a change of heart last night. I promise, I'm here now because I wanted to spend Christmas with you all. Especially you and your brother."

Canada gave a smile. "I'm glad." Then his face fell slightly. "Although I suppose now I owe America twenty bucks."

"You were... betting on this?"

"Don't take it personally."

"I, um, won't."

Their now slightly awkward conversation was interrupted, however, by America's sudden reappearance.

"England! I found it! Merry Christmas!" the nation said, proudly holding out a box.

England accepted the present, carefully tearing off the paper on the outside.

"Oh, this is gonna be so awesome..." America said, practically bouncing from excitement.

England raised an eyebrow. What could America possibly be giving him?

...When he actually saw the present, he was even more confused.

"_This_ is the most 'awesome' present in the world?" he asked, holding up... a box of Ritz crackers.

America started laughing. "Yeah! Last night you said you were upset because you couldn't find any crackers! So I bought you some - aren't they great?"

England shook his head. "_Christmas_ crackers, America. Not..." he chuckled. "...not _cracker _crackers. I suppose it's all for the best though, I'm not sure your being in possession of any sort of explosive is a good idea."

America looked confused, but smiled. Before he could say anything though, England held up a finger.

"Now let me give you boys _your_ present," he said_, _reaching a hand into his bag. This one... this one had been easy. It was the present he'd grabbed himself, back at the hotel. He pulled out the red-and-gold book that had started this whole adventure.

"A book?" America asked confused. "I mean I like books, but why?"

It was England's turn to smile. "This isn't just any book. It's a first edition of _A Christmas Carol _by Charles Dickens."

"_A Christmas Carol_?" Canada asked.

"Yeah, you know, like that movie with the Muppets!" America said. "Awesome!"

"I know _what_ it is, I was just wondering _why_," Canada said.

"Because it's more than it seems," England said with a knowing smile. "And I want you to have it. Call it a present from me... and your grandmother," he said, remembering Britannia's comment from the previous night.

"Our what?" Canada said incredulously.

"I'll explain later."

"I feel like someone should say something sappy right about now..." America said, taking the book and examining it closely. He held it on its side, in the air, allowing it to flap open to the final page. "...Ooh, like this: 'God Bless Us, Every One!'"

England smiled. "I suppose so." Then a thought occurred to him. "America, do you always read the last sentences before _actually reading the book_?"

"Hey! I only do it about half the time! For the last Harry Potter book, I only read the last _word_."

England chuckled. "Never mind. Happy Christmas boys, and 'God Bless Us, Every One', indeed."

And he meant it, every word.

* * *

A/N: I'm going to get this out of the way first, because you are all in for some major thanks.

Translation:

Yīngguó - England (Chinese)

Merry Christmas, everyone! I can't even express how much I want to thank you all. As of this moment, this story - my first fanfiction _ever_ - has over 2,000 views and over 600 visitors, from 21 different countries. And you've all been so encouraging in your reviews! I... I don't even... *giggles maniacally, because if you read last chapter's intro, you know that's what I do when I'm overwhelmingly happy* You all have made me so excited about writing - it's the best Christmas present I could ask for! I promise, there shall be more fics coming from me, and _you, _lovelyreaders, are primarily responsible for that. =)

I may put in some editing time later (I've seen more than a few mistakes, doing a little re-reading), but for now I'm just going to enjoy the holidays - and my Winter Break!

So as I prepare to close up this note, let me leave you with some of my favorite carol lyrics. I always associate the chapter song, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, with _A Christmas Carol_, because we all sang it at the end of our school production. And the last verse, I think, is the perfect way to close this story off as well:

_"Now to the Lord sing praises,_

_all you within this place,_

_and with true love and brotherhood_

_each other now embrace;_

_this holy tide of Christmas_

_all other doth efface._

_O, tidings of comfort and joy, _

_comfort and joy,_

_O, tidings of comfort and joy._

_Amen."_

Thanks again, and Merry Christmas! To quote the book itself:

_"And so, as Tiny Tim [and America xD] observed, God Bless Us Every One!"_


End file.
